


Excelsior

by NoireKnightmare



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Everyone Is Gay, M/M, Supervillains
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2018-08-07 18:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 63,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7725985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoireKnightmare/pseuds/NoireKnightmare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By day, he is Arthur Kirkland, university student and best friend of Alfred F. Jones. By night, he is England, world-renowned thief and sworn enemy of America. Hetalia superhero/supervillain AU, USUK. Originally posted on fanfiction.net, but now it's on here so that more people can read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Like a Thief in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the adventure begins and groins are kicked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular font indicates the present.
> 
> Italic font indicates flashbacking.
> 
> Bold italic font indicates thought.
> 
> Bold regular font indicates writing/typing.

It was quiet.

A little too quiet, for the likes of a certain Briton.

So far, the heist had been going along smoothly; Japan had been able to override the security system for the Metropolitan Museum of Art, allowing England to slip inside undetected and knock out the guards with ease. After disabling the security cameras and wiping any trace of digital fingerprints, England was able to make his way towards the highlights of the museum's artifacts without interruption.

_**The silence is a tad unnerving,**_  he thought as he walked past the exhibits, his coat fluttering behind his slim frame like the feathers of a crow while his boots echoed throughout the empty hallway with every step he took, the dark lighting of the surrounding area making the Tudor rose in his lapel glimmer like blood.  _ **While I know I should take certain things for granted, I cannot help but feel suspicious.**_

England almost jumped when he felt his communicator vibrate against his hip, a soft sigh of relief escaping from his pale lips when realizing he wasn't in danger. Call it paranoia or fear, but a heavy feeling had settled in his stomach with every moment he spent cooped up in the infernal museum.

"What is it, Japan?" He asked when he flipped open his communicator (a silver pocket watch that displayed the masked face of his partner as opposed to the time) and readjusted his own mask, always fearful that it would somehow slip off his face. "Miss me already?" He teased in an attempt to distill his shaken nerves.

A polite laugh escaped the familiar Kitsune mask shown on his screen. "I take it you installed the chip into the security system as I requested?"

"Yes," England replied, a small smirk etched onto his features when his emerald gaze caught sight of a sign which read  **'Highlights of the Collection'**  not far from where he was. "The guards have been knocked out, bound, and gagged. I'm about to enter the highlights' section of the museum, meaning that the Ganymede jewelry cannot be far ahead. Any sign of our American nuisance?"

"No, England-san," Japan answered, turning his head to the side so he could presumably glance over the live security feed on his computer. "No sign of America-san."

Another sigh of relief escaped from the Brit, his eyes closing in bliss behind his black mask decorated with silver tree branches while the smirk on his face grew wider. "Glad to hear the bloody wanker is nowhere in sight," he said as he redirected his gaze towards the hall bathed in a soft glow of lighting, his steps lighter against the floor as his worries lessened. "Perhaps we can finally get away without his commercialized ass messing things up?"

"Hopefully," Japan responded, resting his gloved hand against the cheek of his fox-mask. "Though it's good to keep your guard up if something goes awry, that way it will take less time for you to think on your feet. Regardless, I'll make sure to contact you again in case my feed gets cut off or America-san arrives."

England nodded as he closed the watch and slipped it into the pocket of his tailcoat, the heavy feeling in his stomach fully diminishing at the sight of the Ganymede jewelry resting defenselessly in its glass container. The Brit thanked himself for having enough foresight to disable the security surrounding the particular artifact while he was in the control room, otherwise it would have been much more difficult and time-consuming to disable it manually what with having to maneuver his hand around the alarm-triggering lasers surrounding the treasure.

"'Ello, love," he murmured, his gloved hands carefully tugging off the glass top and leaving the glass resting against a wall. The jewelry was priceless, what with it dating back to 330-300 B.C and being a combination of gold, rock crystal, and emerald; the apple of any artifact collector's eye, and the prime target for any notable thief to 'procure'. "What wonderful doors you'll be able to open for me."

With a shaking hand, he lifted up the 13-inch necklace and carefully wrapped it up in fabric to prevent it from being broken, taking extra caution in depositing it into the bag slung over his shoulder given like hell he was going to risk it being harmed when he and Japan had gotten this far trying to steal it.

He was so busy paying attention to the welfare of the necklace that he failed to register the sensation of his communicator vibrating against his hip. An action he would later regard upon recollection with a facepalm and a 'by GOD was I moronic!'

_**With this, I can finally do it,**_  the thief thought excitedly, slipping the other pieces of jewelry (bracelets, earrings, fibulae brooches, and a ring) into assorted pieces of fabric and storing them into his bag, missing the sound of footsteps echoing closer and closer as his enthusiasm continued to peak.  _ **With this, I can finally-**_

All thoughts faltered in his mind when he felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist and pull him close, his back colliding with a solid chest before he could react.

"'Ello love."

_**Shit.** _

The Briton stomped harshly on the man's white boots without another moment to lose, relishing the satisfying screech of pain that escaped from his enemy before he spun around and shoved him away, successfully escaping his grasp in the process.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in and pissed all over," England snarled, his grip tightening on the strap of the bag wrapped over his shoulder while he glared at his nemesis doubled-over in pain. "Hello, America. Does mummy know you're breaking your curfew?"

"I can say the same about you, England," America spat once he recovered from the surprisingly-sharp blow, his gloved hands crossing over his toned chest as his blue eyes narrowed behind his white mask dotted with blue stars. "I didn't know your retirement home let you stay out so late."

The Englishman growled and started walking backwards when the American began to walk towards him, the adrenaline rushing swifter through his system with each resounding 'CLACK' the hero's white boots emitted. "I'm not as bloody old as you make me out to be!"

America laughed, the dim lighting dancing off his futuristic-looking jumpsuit. He glanced over England's attire as he continued to come closer at a slow pace, the smug glint in his eye indicating that he was unable to help savoring the Brit's reemerging panic given how rare England went out of his way to always have some form of backup plan. His confidence—which was somehow more prominent than normal, if that was even possible—proof enough that the hero was the one to have a backup plan between the two of them. "I don't know, those clothes of yours look like a failed version of cosplay."

"It's steampunk, you foolish twat," the thief snapped, motioning to his black tailcoat complete with grey cogs in the place of buttons, his dark pants with chains hanging near his pockets, and his knee-high green boots decorated with gear-studded straps of leather. He mentally cursed when he felt his back collide with a large lunette window overlooking the entrance to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, his brain going into overdrive so that he could come up with a way to escape. Perhaps he could use America's tendency to succumb to his emotions and engage in banter to his advantage and buy him some time? "And you want to talk about failed versions of cosplay? Try looking in the mirror, 'Captain America'!"

The Briton could practically see the American bristle like a cat that got stepped on its tail, his blush as vivid a shade of red as the fabric on his arms and legs. With his fabricated-blue torso, white gloves and boots, and blonde hair slicked to one side, he did somewhat resemble Captain America. However, the amount of logos attached to random places on his attire deterred his image and made him appear more like personified commercialism as opposed to the Marvel Avenger. "You're just jealous because the hero gets product placement," he informed, pointing to the brands dotting his arms varying from McDonalds to Starbucks.

"Yes, 'God bless the land of the free'," England drawled, sarcasm lacing his tone as thickly as his accent. He knew how he could make his dramatic exit (since he needed one for his long-term plan to succeed), though he'd need to be quick and careful unless he wanted to break his legs. "Where advertising is almost as prevalent as idiocy."

"Says the guy who didn't realize I showed up until the last minute," America retorted, smirking at how it was the Brit's turn to blush. Since his masquerade mask covered the upper-half of his face, it undoubtedly gave the hero a nice view of the villain's cheeks that were as red as a Mediterranean tomato. "I have to say, you're not very aware of your surroundings for someone who's supposed to be a thief-"

A swift kick to the nuts ended America's statement as soon as he started it.

"And you're not very aware of your surroundings for someone who's supposed to be a superhero," England hissed as he retracted his foot from between the hero's legs and broke through the window he was previously leaning against, the bag containing the Ganymede artifacts still held tightly within his grasp.

He wasn't sure whether or not the hero shouted for him to stop considering the world seemed to blend together in shards of glass. He barely had enough time to position his body in a tuck-and-roll position and prevent himself from going two-dimensional on the stairs leading to the museum, but it seemed luck was on his side that evening for he managed to land in the plants situated beneath the windows with nothing more than a few cuts, bruises, and a sprained ankle.

A moment passed before England gathered enough strength to hide himself in the large bushes he landed in, the bag pressed tightly against his chest as his pulse thundered in his ears. Knowing the superhero, he would immediately dart off in any direction he saw fit instead of simply checking the bushes under the window regardless of how badly his genitals were injured. It was just the way he worked, jumping into a situation without thinking things through first (or at least that was the conclusion England had come to in the months of encountering him.)

Still, he didn't want to imagine what would happen if America found him given how much stronger the hero was than him (not to mention it'd be difficult to run with a sprained ankle); the villain was unable to stop his heart from skipping a beat when he heard the entrance door open and slam shut with a resounding 'BAM', his eyes closing in fear behind his mask as the hurried footsteps became louder and louder, his hand clamped over his nose to prevent the hero from possibly hearing his breathing.

The footsteps abruptly stopped around the place where England hid, making his heart come to a complete stop in his chest cavity. He dared not breathe lest he be discovered and his plans foiled.

The Brit couldn't remember the last time his bones felt like Jell-O than when he heard those footsteps hurry in a random direction. He didn't care what way America went, as long as he was as far away from him as possible. He wasn't in the mood to continue their shenanigans, not when he could be possibly apprehended for his crimes due to his temporarily-weakened state.

"At least the moron is still as predictable as ever," England whispered hoarsely, standing up and climbing out of the plants with trembling limbs. He made a mental note to donate some damn fertilizer to those bushes since they saved him from a fate worse than a few scratches, bruises, and a sprained ankle.

Without another word, England ran/limped in the direction of him and Japan's rendezvous point. He made off, dare he say it, like a thief in the night.

~na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na~

"I'm relieved to see that you're back in mostly one piece," Kiku mentioned as he finished wrapping linen around Arthur's foot. He set the roll of medical fabric aside and took off his black-rim glasses since he was finished with close examination of the injury and they were threatening to slip off his nose anyway. "Thankfully, it's just as sprain as you initially thought, Arthur-san."

"Are the artifacts still intact?" Arthur wondered out loud as he carefully stood up from where he sat on the cot, wincing at the pressure he initially put on the sensitive appendage before he leaned on the end of the bed for support. "I tried my best to keep it together."

The Japanese male spun in his chair on wheels so that he could direct his attention to the stolen items placed on his observation table. "Hai, the Ganymede jewelry is still valuable as it was undamaged in the fall. I conducted a few tests to guarantee its authenticity, and the artifacts are legitimate."

"So he couldn't have been informed beforehand, because he would have probably swapped the real thing with an imitation or found some other way to gain the upper-hand," the Brit said, grabbing a bag (not his thieving bag, since it could be recognized by someone well-aware of his crimes) full of normal clothes to change into as Kiku had already changed out of his criminal attire and hid it elsewhere. "That eliminates the idea of him having a spy of some-sort."

_**Either that or he was so sure in catching me in the act at the right place at the right time, that he sought no need in replacing the artifacts given he would apprehend me anyway. But if that were the case, why didn't he simply arrive before me and catch me before I could remove the glass?**_ Arthur thought, slipping off his black coat and stripping his long-sleeved green dress shirt off his torso when Kiku wasn't looking (he knew the male was sensitive about the showing of skin, even if it was between close friends/partners in crime). The 22-year old quickly snuck beneath the blankets of the medicinal cot and traded his formal black pants for a pair of casual blue jeans, and covered his chest with a T-shirt and an oversized sweater.

_**It isn't like him to risk something being stolen simply for the purpose of arriving 'fashionably-late',**_  he continued to think while slipping on some socks and tenderly nursing his feet into a pair of sneakers, his head of messy blond hair appearing even messier when he poked his head out from beneath the covers.  _ **Or is it possible he was informed beforehand of my plan, pretended to go off in a random direction, but is actually trailing me to this location as we speak to finally put me behind bars now that he'd have actual evidence that I wanted to steal the jewelry?**_

A knock at the door caused his words to catch in his throat before he could even voice his idea to Kiku.

The brunette sitting at the desk sensed the blond's distress and did nothing else except make a 'shhhh' motion with a finger to his lips.

Though Arthur was unable to understand why Kiku was so calm and keeping the bloody stolen jewelry out in plain sight, Arthur nodded and did nothing except hide his bag reserved for thievery inside his bag reserved for his change of clothes.

The door opened after a moment, Arthur's panic vanishing as soon as he realized that it was just his best friend.

"Alfred F. Jones, you need to stop barging in on us in the middle of the night," Arthur sighed, running a hand through his tousled blonde locks in exasperation. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Sorry Artie," Alfred laughed as he opened the door a bit wider, his eyes crinkling in delight when seeing his best friend huff at his nickname. "You guys still up at this late at night?" Alfred asked the two, leaning on the door with a smile lighting up his features. His line-of-sight trailed to the jewelry resting on Kiku's desk. "Woah, what is that? Looks old, dude."

"Ah, just something I've been working on for my artifacts' class," Kiku replied, adjusting the lamp on his desk so that the bespectacled American could see better. "Our current assignment is to replicate an artifact from a country we've been assigned, and I was assigned to Greece."

A low whistle resounded from Alfred as he walked over by the Japanese student and looked at it over his shoulder. "Pretty damn impressive, looks like it could belong in a museum."

"I hope it does," Kiku nodded, picking up a gold earring with tweezers. "I've spent countless weeks researching it on the internet and at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where Heracles-san (a close friend of mine who works as a curator there) told me it was being displayed."

"I didn't want Kiku to feel like he was the only one still awake," Arthur commented, yawning as he lay on the cot. "So I decided to stay up with him, what with us being roommates and all. I figured I could study some more while I was at it."

Alfred laughed, sitting down on the other end of the cot and ruffling up the Brit's hair. "Dude, you need to stop looking for excuses to stay up late. It's not good for you and we both know you don't need extra studying hours."

Arthur couldn't help but blush given the close proximity to the American. "Alright, alright, I'll try going to sleep earlier, now will you please stop messing with my hair?"

"It's already messy enough as it is," Alfred teased, sticking both hands in Arthur's hair and fooling around with it some more. "Like anything I do will change it."

"You know it bugs me, that's why you keep on doing it," the Brit reminded the American, his blush worsening when he laughed. "Seriously, I don't want cheeseburger crumbs in my hair or something!"

"I don't eat that much-"

"You do and you know it!"

"Kirkland-"

"Jones-"

"Alfred-san, Arthur-san, could you please release your sexual tension somewhere else? You're distracting me from my project."

The two males blushed from the tips of their ears to the tips of their feet when hearing that statement, both entirely at a loss of words to say.

After a moment, Alfred emitted an over-exaggerated sigh, before dragging a protesting Arthur out of the cot.

"Come on, Artie-"

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere where we can release our sexual tension in peace~"

"H-h-he wasn't serious when he said that-!"

"I know, but we should really let him work. Those jewelry thingies look awesome."

"They really are. Hey, are you limping?"

"Yeah, kind of crushed my nuts by hitting a pole on my way here. Wait—why's your ankle bandaged?"

"Tripped up the stairs between one of my classes."

"How do you trip UP the stairs?"

"Don't act like you've never done it!"

The door to Arthur Kirkland and Kiku Honda's dorm closed with a satisfying 'bang', leaving the quiet Japanese male to himself as he overlooked the priceless piece of history residing on his desk.

He couldn't help but smile a bit as he rested his hand on his cheek, the light from his lamp reflecting off the gold of the necklace, sending yellow shadows cascading off the ceiling.

"Those two are so oblivious. In more ways than one."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Sooooo yeah, that happened. That's chapter one, it turned out much longer than I expected. Sorry if it's confusing or if it's rushed, I literally came up with this idea last night when I was trying to sleep. My brain tends to give me the best story prompts when I'm trying to sleep. It's both convenient and inconvenient.
> 
> This is my first USUK fanfiction I've ever written, and I hope you've enjoyed this chapter of 'Excelsior'. And before you ask, yes, I'm fully aware that 'Excelsior' is a famous Stan Lee quote, while the intermission is the Batman theme song. I just put that in for the fun of it, though I will admit that America's hero outfit is based off Captain America's costume, and Captain Amazing's outfit from 'Mystery Men'.
> 
> Regardless, please favorite/follow at your leisure, and reviews (whether positive or negative, since I'm fond of constructive criticism) are much appreciated. I'll try my best to update it soon.
> 
> Until then? Stay awesome.


	2. 'O'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a new character emerges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular font indicates the present.
> 
> Italic font indicates flashbacking.
> 
> Bold italic font indicates thought.
> 
> Bold regular font indicates writing/typing.

"I think it would be a good idea to make replicas for the Ganymede jewelry, Arthur-san." Kiku decided as he continued to overlook the artifacts residing on his desk.

Since the Metropolitan heist two days ago, he had been meticulously inspecting the Greek pieces to check for any wire taps or cameras somehow imputed on the jewelry for obvious reasoning and hadn't found any sign of alteration. Still, as he and Arthur were living double lives as 'Japan' and 'England', both understood the importance of precaution regardless of how big or small the situation was.

"It seems a logical idea, Kiku," Arthur remarked, resting his hand on his cheek as he created an internet tab on his laptop. "Though why do you recommend we make them now when we've stolen the items and have no intention of giving them back?"

 _ **If there was any time we should have made replicas, it should have been before the Metropolitan heist,**_  the Brit thought while typing the name  **'Ayuramih'**  into his search engine on the Deep Web portion of the internet, clicking on the first website that appeared; a black market website.  _ **That way we could have swapped the originals with the fakes.**_

"Alfred-san saw the Ganymede jewelry two days ago and I told him they were fakes for my artifacts' class," the Japanese male reminded his dorm mate/partner-in-crime after turning off the lamp and standing up, stretching lightly as he did so as he had spent a long time in front of the computer. "Wouldn't it would be suspicious if we sold the jewelry and Alfred-san requested to see the 'replicas' again, only for them to be missing?"

The blond snorted a bit when taking the idea into consideration. "A step ahead of me as always," he smiled, clicking on the portion of the black market site only labeled as  **'Ailateh'** , his green eyes scanning across pages of stolen artifacts up for sale. "Alright. I'll take care of finding a customer and sending the jewelry to them while you make the replicas. And though it'll take a while for me to complete the transaction of money and product (what with having to skirt around the police and all), I imagine you'll have plenty of free time to create the impersonations as you see fit."

 _ **The fact remains that it will be difficult for him to make realistic-looking artifacts to match the ones Alfred thought he saw,**_  Arthur resumed thinking, creating a product profile for the Ganymede jewelry on the website and establishing a price.  _ **However, Kiku is capable of completing such a feat, if what he's demonstrated both recently and in the past is proof enough.**_

Another thought struck the blond when he logged out of Ayuramih, causing him to close his internet tabs and open up one of his computer programs. "Hey Kiku," he began, his mouse hovering over the folder recently saved on his laptop. "Could I check the security camera footage you gathered during the heist?"

The brunette nodded, a hesitant look present amongst his features for a moment. "Hai, Arthur-san," he spoke, standing behind his partner to watch what was shown on the screen. "Though do you remember what I said about that chip I gave you?"

"Yes," Arthur replied, watching the footage taken. "You said how you would be given access to a live video feed of all the cameras. Why do you ask?"

"What I said was correct, and I was able to see what was going on," Kiku acknowledged, playing with his fingers while watching the footage with Arthur. "However, as you'll see in a moment, the live video feed was cut off about ten minutes in."

This caught his partner off-guard. "Wait, what?" the blond sputtered, skipping ahead and stopping at the ten minute mark of the footage only to stare in shock when the feed abruptly cut off. "W-what happened to the security cameras?"

"I believe the security cameras were unharmed, as you and America-san didn't engage in fighting that affected the building," the Japanese male informed, noting the Brit's sheepish expression. "With the exception of that window you broke in order to escape," he reminded, smirking at the embarrassed blush on the Brit's cheeks.

"However, the thing that intrigued me about the heist wasn't the fact that my feed disconnected, but who disconnected it," Kiku hinted, leaning over Arthur's shoulder and moving the mouse until it skipped thirty seconds after the footage initially cut off.

Just seeing the image pop up on the screen again sent shivers down the brunette's spine. While it wasn't particularly horrifying or insightful, the mystery resided in how open for interpretation it was. The image was a plain white screen with a black  **'O'**  in the center, like something out of the anime/manga 'Death Note'.

"Whoever disconnected my feed knew of our plan," Kiku explained, skipping further along the footage only to see the same image throughout the entire video. "And knew that you installed my chip into the security system, so they infiltrated the system and blocked off my live feed of the situation. When this happened, I tried to contact you through your communicator," he admitted, holding up the familiar pocket-watch so that his partner-in-crime could see. "But you didn't answer."

"And by the time that happened, it was already too late for me," the Brit muttered distastefully beneath his breath, his brow furrowing when recalling how the hero hugged him from behind and greeted him with a 'Ello love'. The bloody wanker probably thought it'd be funny to hold him all close like that and whisper in his ear like a lover, didn't he?

"I apologize for my inability to properly alert you, Arthur-san," the Japanese male bowed, standing upright when the Brit waved him off with a wave of his hand.

"It's fine, if anything I'm the one at fault since I didn't realize it until the last minute," Arthur mumbled, his cheeks blushing in embarrassment again considering a certain American idiot said the same thing about him during the heist. "Anyway, do you think it's possible that the burger-loving twat has a sidekick?"

"I wouldn't rule out the possibility," Kiku responded, still staring at the screen entirely blank save for that infamous letter, his fists clenched at his sides while his brow furrowed slightly. "Whoever or whatever they are, we should treat them with the same precaution we treat everything else, perhaps more if they prove to be a formidable foe in the future."

"If they had knowledge of our plan and met your technological prowess with a decapitation move, I say we tread lightly around this 'O'," the Englishman insisted, closing his laptop and redirecting his emerald gaze towards the Ganymede artifacts on the desk. He stood up from where he sat and began carefully wrapping up the pieces into the same fabric he used before. "Especially considering we have no idea what their full sidekick alias, real name, or face is. As I've encountered America in the past, it's only been him and I."

He snickered a bit, leaning on his arm to support himself even though his sprained ankle was mostly healed by now. "In a way, he's America's version of you," Arthur concluded, looking back to meet the Asian's dark brown eyes. "'Japan'."

Even though the Japanese male was wearing neither his Kitsune mask nor his black and white tuxedo he wore when masquerading as 'Japan', he placed his hand over his heart and bowed a miniscule amount.

"I promised that I would stay by your side to help you achieve your goal," Kiku murmured, his eyes closed as he reminisced within the depths of his mind of that day that seemed so long ago.

His dark gaze met the emerald gaze he'd become so familiar with, as he straightened out with his hand still over his heart.

"Your goal to make Alfred F. Jones confess his love to you. By any means necessary."

~ na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na~

"So you finished making the Ganymede replicas?" Alfred asked, one hand positioned on his wireless mouse as he scrolled down the recently added items on  **'Ailateh'**  to see if England had already put the artifacts for sale, his other hand holding his iphone to his ear as he listened.

"Correct," the person on the end of his phone replied, their answer causing a smile to break out amongst the American's features. "Though I anticipate that England's sidekick—for I have no doubt he has one—will be making their own replicas shortly."

"Huh? Why would they do that?" The hero questioned, his blue eyes widening behind his glasses when he caught sight of the Ganymede jewelry already up for sale at a price of-

The blond had to massage his temple given how much England was asking for. Gosh, the amount of comic books he could buy with that kind of money was unfathomable.

"If they wanted to make the replicas, it would make sense for them to make it before the heist that way they could swap the originals with the fakes, right?" He continued, sighing a bit when his headache diminished.

"That's because some of our information has been leaked." the voice said, causing the American to turn pale.

"How long has it been leaked? Who heard what?" Alfred interrogated, trying and failing to keep his panic at bay. His sidekick was efficient; deadly efficient. It was rare for him to make a mistake, much less a mistake that could cost them dearly.

"Since the Metropolitan heist two days ago," the voice continued, putting a lid on the hero's anxiety as he sighed again, this time out of relief. "I assume it occurred while I was intercepting the program England installed into the security system, so that I could gain access into his helper's live video feed and cut them off."

"Between the time I began and finished the infiltration, there was a gap of time in which I was at my most vulnerable point. A short gap of time in which you'd have to be fast to act upon, but a gap of time nonetheless," the speaker admitted, pieces of shame evident in their tone. "During that point, I suspect that England's helper infiltrated us and accessed the basics of our plan."

"So there's a chance that England will lure us into a trap based on the knowledge he has?" The blond exclaimed, nervousness and fear wrapping around his nerves like a python would do to its prey, his grip on his cellphone increasing until a small 'crack' from his phone case forced him to relinquish it. "Should we change our tactics and catch him by surprise? Should we back away and wait for all of it to pass over-"

"No," the speaker on the end of Alfred's phone interrupted, surprising the American. "We will not run. If we run, we're giving into criminal activity and letting England win when we can clearly work this to our advantage."

"But you said he knows what we're going to do," Alfred expressed, exiting out of the black market website and closing his laptop, his heart beating erratically within his chest cavity. "Our plan will be rendered useless if he can anticipate our actions!"

"I said that England's helper knows the basics of our plan," the voice reminded, making Alfred's words die in his throat. "I never said they know it entirely, and that they told England."

"Why would they retain what amount of information they possess?" The American wondered out loud, standing up and walking to the window of his dorm. His dorm—much to his luck—was private and gave him a wonderful view of the New York University arch and park it was located in. "In spite of how much or little of our plan they know, it's obvious to tell your leader what the enemy is planning!"

"In some strategies, it's better to let your leader be oblivious of the things soon to occur," the voice answered, a hint of amusement in their voice. "Their actions, unaltered by knowledge of the future, prove to be more productive than actions altered."

"Right," Alfred agreed, letting his gaze wander downwards at the various students loitering in the park of NYU, a smile rising against his features again when seeing Arthur playing chess by himself on the grass. When they were kids, he and Arthur used to love playing chess together. Of course, Arthur always won. "Regardless, we should tread with caution around England and his helper, whether or not he's been informed of what we're going to do."

"That seems like a logical idea, Alfred," the voice remarked, as Alfred opened the door to his dorm and made his way downstairs to play chess with a certain Brit.

"Thanks, Oya."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Funny story about this--I originally typed up a different chapter, one much more serious and dark than this one, initially. Though I decided against putting that one up since I wanted the second chapter to have the vibe this chapter I feel gave off. But don’t despair, I’ll post that other chapter later in the story, and I’ll mention in the author’s note whether it’s that one or not, so keep your eyes out for it~
> 
> Here’s a few things to explain: 
> 
> *the ‘Deep Web’ Arthur mentions is the portion of the internet that’s more reserved for criminals, pedophiles, drug/people-traffickers, all that dark stuff. As for the website’s name ‘Ayuramih’ and the EBay-like section ‘Ailateh’, you can figure where I got the name for those things if you simply type it up backwards.
> 
> *As for the amount of money England/Arthur’s asking for the Ganymede stuff, I can’t find the estimated price range for the stuff ANYWHERE, so just assume it’s a lot. Like, a lot a lot.
> 
> *At one point, England/Arthur said ‘met your technological prowess with a decapitation move’. In strategy, a decapitation move is a move that achieves strategical paralysis by targeting political leadership, command/control, strategic weapons, things along those lines. Basically, killing the Hydra at its core instead of aiming for its heads. In the case of the Metropolitan heist, Japan/Kiku was acting as England/Arthur eyes, so without access to the cameras surrounding the area, England/Arthur was rendered unaware of his surroundings. 
> 
> *Sorry for those of you who are more familiar with the way computers and hacking function. The interworking of computers are lost upon me, though I’d greatly appreciate it if someone who’s more knowledgeable of such could leave a review explaining it so that I could revise this. 
> 
> So that’s the second chapter~! I’ll try to update soon, but until then? Stay awesome.


	3. The Metropolitan Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the long-term of plans are mentioned. Also Starbucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular font indicates the present.
> 
> Italic font indicates flashbacking.
> 
> Bold italic font indicates thought.
> 
> Bold regular font indicates writing/typing.

It had been a week since the Ganymede jewelry—the highlight of the Metropolitan Museum's collection and a priceless piece of Greece's ancient history—was stolen with nothing more than an empty glass container, a broken lunette window, and a few trampled bushes to serve as proof that such artifacts were stolen.

The event had taken the media by storm, as rumors began to spread and people began to wonder what occurred on that night. What was the purpose of stealing the artifacts, if they were stolen at all? Was it for the vast amounts of money the jewelry was worth, or was it for the glory of having managed to escape without a trace (save for the aforementioned glass container, broken lunette window, and trampled bushes?)

The press had a field day as all journalists and news reporters would with such an event as that. Countless articles ripped the police to shreds and cursed their inability to catch the thief, rejoicing in their failure as taking advantage of public interest increased the sales of their magazines and newspapers.

Out of all forms of media, none was more excited than the internet. With the internet, people could take sides without a second thought as they wouldn't face repercussions for hiding behind a computer screen. They could spread rumors and share opinions to their hearts' content without fear of their identities being revealed or their images being ruined.

News of the Metropolitan heist spread like wildfire across the web as people began to question numerous things regarding the theft. Why those particular artifacts when they obviously had the skills to steal more? How did they manage to get past the security and take the guarded items? Most importantly, who was responsible for sneaking in, robbing the museum, and slinking under the radar of both the NYPD and America, New York's finest superhero?

Little did New York—no, the WORLD at this point—realize that the man in question, the criminal who had become the bane of the police's existence and was quickly becoming recognized as a renowned thief, was sitting in the corner of a Starbucks' café on his laptop and sipping lukewarm tea.

 _ **I anticipated that the museum and the NYPD would work to cover up the situation as best as they could,**_  Arthur thought as he took a drink from his brewed Earl Grey, cringing a bit at how quickly the beverage had cooled.  _ **Knowing the museum, they would dismiss the Ganymede's disappearance by saying it was taken in for restoration to prevent their standing from being tarnished, which they did.**_

He drained the rest of his drink and pushed the Styrofoam cup to the side, typing  **'Identity of Metropolitan thief'**  into his Google search and clicking the enter button on his keyboard.  _ **And, knowing the police, they would force America to keep quiet about the whole affair, which they did. Since America serves as a mascot for the police, they can't afford him to let slip any information that could make them look bad. Even though the heist occurred a week ago, he hasn't released any information that could point to a criminal responsible for the incident.**_

The Brit's brow crinkled a miniscule amount at the millions of results found in 0.26 seconds, his hand resting on his cheek as he scrolled his wireless mouse up and down the screen. He clicked on the first website at the top of the page with a small smirk etching onto his features when he caught sight of it.

He leaned in his chair after a moment, still staring at the screen. "I knew I asked Kiku to upload some footage to the internet," he mumbled beneath his breath as he exited out of the site and clicked on the other sites, all of them showing the same sets of pictures. "But I didn't think he'd do it so quickly."

In order for his goal to be completed, several tasks had to be undertaken. The first task was to steal a few items, items well-known for their worth in the black market, to set the stage and begin molding his reputation. He didn't want to steal an artifact like the Ganymede jewels on his first heist; otherwise it would look like he was taking the credit for someone else's work.

The second task was to get in contact with other criminals for the purpose of making connections that could prove to be beneficial in the future. Arthur was especially careful during this task as it was a risky move on his end. If he dropped one tidbit of personal information, whether his true name or where he lived (although he would never be stupid enough to go about blabbing about such things to begin with), it could be his undoing. Though this was around the time he met Kiku, his dorm mate who turned out to be an expert in the field of hacking and technological manipulation. While it had taken a good amount of time to develop trust with the Japanese male, the Englishman found it to be a lot easier working with a partner than by himself. After all, the enemy of his enemy was his friend, right?

The third task was to create his pièce de résistance as a thief by stealing the Ganymede jewelry and evading capture from the NYPD. While he hadn't anticipated that America would show up in his best-cast scenario (even if the pesky American had somehow managed to find him during his past, less-significant heists), it did improve his image as he had stolen the jewelry and evaded capture from both the NYPD andNew York's famous superhero.

Now that he had stolen the Ganymede artifacts, he figured it was about time for him to give the media a face to associate with the crime they became so infatuated with in so short a time. If he waited any longer, he wouldn't be surprised if some other thief stepped forward and took the credit for his work.

 _ **I asked Kiku to submit a few snapshots from what security footage wasn't interrupted by 'O' to various websites, newspapers, and magazines,**_  Arthur continued to think as he closed the internet tabs on his laptop, erased his browser history, and exited out of his fake user IP address online. Ever since he began his criminal activities, he found it useful to create a few IP addresses to prevent being traced. A simple protocol he and Kiku established when they first formed their partnership, as they both agreed that precaution was an absolute necessity if they wanted to stay out of jail.  _ **That way, both the NYPD and America could be hounded by the press for not revealing that information sooner and decrease their public support. And after that, it won't be long before-**_

"-All the tasks at hand have been cleared," Arthur finished out loud beneath his breath.

"What tasks at hand?" A familiar voice wondered, causing the Brit to almost jump out of his seat considering dear God for a minute he thought it was-

"Alfred!" Arthur gasped, holding his heart in an attempt to catch his breath. "You need to stop sneaking up on me like that!"

The American laughed at the sight of the blond looking so distressed, the sound causing a blush to emerge amongst the Englishman's previously-pale features.

"Sorry," Alfred apologized, pulling out the chair across from Arthur and sitting down. "I saw you were in here and decided to surprise you. I didn't think you were a Starbucks' person."

"If by surprise you meant scare within an inch of my life, then yes, you surprised me," Arthur replied while crossing his arms over his chest. "And I'm not one for Starbucks. Since Kiku began studying for his exams for his summer classes, I've been coming here to get my tea."

 _ **In actuality, Kiku began creating the replicas for the Ganymede artifacts like we discussed recently,**_  the Brit admitted within the contents of his mind, getting up and throwing his empty Styrofoam cup in the trash considering he finished it some time ago.  _ **He requested that I stay out of the dorm because the slightest distraction could result in inadequate impersonations.**_

"Huh, and here I thought you had the unhealthy studying habit," the American remarked when he sat down again, an impish smile playing amongst his features again as he rested his hand on his cheek. "But off goes Kiku studying a week before his summer exams are to start."

"You know how we both are," Arthur retorted, hoping the blond couldn't see through his lie however true to Kiku's personality it was. "We take our education very seriously as we both need 4.0s to maintain our scholarships."

Alfred drew out an over-dramatic sigh, flopping his arms on the table. "I would have gotten a scholarship like you guys if I didn't flunk my English final-"

"Which, based on what you read, didn't surprise me all that much."

"Comic books are a form of literature!"

"As much literature as a children's coloring book."

"You're just jelly 'cuz my English is gooder than yours~"

"Good God, just hearing that statement made me lose brain cells," Arthur moaned, raking a hand through his messy blond hair to tease the American further, unable to help the small smile brightening up his features. "I'm amazed you passed high school, Jones."

It was Alfred's turn to smile. "That's because you insisted on tutoring me, Kirkland," he winked, snickering at the blush that bloomed across the Englishman's cheekbones.

"S-shut up, you moron," the Brit coughed out, trying/failing to fight the raging red on his face by averting his embarrassed emerald gaze from mischievous sapphire.

"If I ask, will you tutor me again," Alfred implored, leaning forward until his nose was barely brushing the boy sitting across from him. "Kirkland-sempai?"

Arthur lost it, having to cover his mouth to prevent himself from bursting into a fit of unadulterated laughter, his face brighter than a Mediterranean tomato and his stomach hurting from how badly he was holding it in.

"You just go off and ruin it, Jones," he managed to say between his fingers, burying his face on the table so he could quietly laugh his guts out in peace. "You burger-loving twat."

The American only grinned, ruffling the hair of the Englishman knowing how he felt about his hair being tampered with, the smile dancing across his features excellently concealing his confusion likely towards why that particular insult sounded familiar.

~ na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na~

He glanced over the blueprints with a curious smile residing amongst his shadowy features, loving the way that the metal glinted in the bright light of his computer. Even though it would have been easier to simply purchase one off the internet, it wouldn't have been as fun as making one directly. Besides, since he had finished making the replica of the Ganymede jewelry as he and Alfred agreed beforehand, 'O' had much more time dedicated to his more…personal projects.

He was efficient; deadly efficient, if the decapitation move he demonstrated during the Metropolitan heist against England's presumed sidekick was anything to go off of. While it was undeniably tricky to access England's feed and disconnect it, he felt it was worth it in watching the thief struggle akin to a squashed bug desperately clinging to life.

"Though the fact that people could potentially learn our secrets is proof that my abilities leave much to be desired," 'O' mumbled, glancing over the blueprints one last time to check for any possible mistakes he could have made. After England's helper had managed to infiltrate his computer and enact his own form of a decapitation move (granted, much more subtle than his own), he had no choice but to be even more cautious to prevent such mistakes from happening again. "However, with luck, I'll only have to wait a little longer before I can finally test this out and prove myself."

Another glance to the machine caused a miniscule smile to grow upon their features. An excited smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Yeah, I couldn’t sleep at all, so I decided to type up chapter three. This is the kind of stuff that pops out of my mind when my brain can’t go to sleep, it’s kind of weird.
> 
> However, I quite like where this is going. Sorry that the chapter isn’t longer and that my author’s note isn’t longer, but I’m going to try to get some sleep soon. Until then? Stay awesome.


	4. Reminiscence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which troubled times are recalled and motives are acknowledged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular font indicates the present.
> 
> Italic font indicates flashbacking.
> 
> Bold italic font indicates thought.
> 
> Bold regular font indicates writing/typing.

Alfred F. Jones was not easily stressed out.

Sure, he went into panic mode and started shaking like a leaf whenever he forgot to study for an important test, but 'stress' and 'fear' were two entirely different things. Yes, he flipped out whenever he had to try British food, but if something that was supposed to be a scone ended up tasting like petrified couch stuffing, it was normal to react that way when your physical health was at stake. And, while he was known for hugging pillows and screaming like a little girl whenever he watched a scary movie, everything featured in those films were nothing in comparison to the gut-wrenching, heart-stopping panic he had experienced during his heroic escapades (except for Italian horror movies; those things were a chaotic bombardment of entrails and naked women.)

But even those situations, from forgetting to study to playing the part of a superhero (hell, even watching Italian horror movies) paled in comparison to what he was dealing with at the moment.

 _ **Is this a date or not?**_  Alfred thought, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he glanced to the smaller blond beside him, quickly looking away out of fear he'd catch him staring.  _ **I can't tell if this is a date or not!**_

To be honest, Alfred had condemned himself to this particular fate; shortly after the surprise-meeting in the Starbucks' café, Arthur pulled out a list as he suddenly remembered he had a few errands to run while he was temporarily exiled from his dorm.

" _Just a few small things I need to get," the Brit mumbled beneath his breath, his emerald gaze averting the American's bespectacled sapphire one for unbeknownst reasoning, his pale cheeks glowing faintly with pink. "Considering I'm out and about anyway."_

_Alfred grinned from where he sat across from Arthur. "Can I come along?" he asked, brimming with enthusiasm at the idea of spending more time with the Englishman. "It'd go by a lot faster with two people."_

_The Brit appeared hesitant, looking out the window so he could avoid looking at his friend. "I don't know," he replied, his face blooming into a darker shade of pink while his eyes deepened in a whirlwind of emotions Alfred was unable to recognize, therefore making the American all the more curious to know what was going on through his friend's mind to make him appear like that. "I…suppose you could join. J-just to help me carry my stuff, nothing more."_

_That was Arthur's equivalent of a yes, so Alfred accepted it with another winning smile. "Great!" he cheered, standing up quickly and accidentally sending his chair flying backwards._

_The café went silent, all eyes centering on the tall blond who laughed to diffuse the awkward silence. "My bad," he said, scratching the back of his head and sheepishly putting the chair in its previous spot. "We'll be going in a minute."_

_**While I know it was an ingenious plan of mine to accompany Artie on his errands to spend more time with him,**_  Alfred continued to think as he cascaded his line-of-sight over mountains of book titles sitting on the shelves, his heart rate calmer since Arthur went to a different aisle.  _ **And that the only reason he let me come with him was to supposedly carry his things-**_

His train of thought derailed there, as his breath caught in his chest and blood gathered in his cheeks.

 _ **I still can't help but feel like this is a date,**_  he admitted within the contents of his mind, picking a random book title and reading the synopsis on the back, his eyes moving but his brain not registering what it said.

A soft sigh escaped from his mouth as he put the book back, picking up another one and opening it to a random page in an attempt to distract himself. Anyone who looked at him would have probably thought he was reading  **'Fifty Shades of Grey'**  given how badly he was blushing.

 _ **T-though that's impossible,**_  Alfred expressed mentally, hastily depositing the book ( **'Dating for Germans'** ) and shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket, looking around again even though he was paying no attention.  _ **It's been like, seventeen years since we've known each other? We're practically family!**_

It was so obscure to think that he had known Arthur for so long. From afar, people would think they'd never get along, Alfred being a loud, cheerful ball of never-ending energy, Arthur being a quiet, secluded bookworm who spoke sarcasm as a second language. Hell, Alfred didn't think they'd get along at first, but even that mindset didn't last.

His bespectacled gaze automatically softened at the thought of the Brit, not caring how he was blatantly staring into space at this point as he began to question the fuzzy feeling stirring up his nerves. He grimaced at the sensation of his heart squeezing uncomfortably within his chest cavity, his eyes half-lidded in confliction as he continued to question its origin.

The blond reached into his pocket and removed his phone, pulling up his photo album and searching for a particular picture. While it took him a few minutes, a warm smile resided amongst his cheekbones when he found it. He could still remember when the photo was taken, even though it was many years ago.

After a moment, he turned off his phone and rested his forehead against the bookshelf in front of him, his internal confusion visible in the slump of his shoulders and the pained contort of his usually-optimistic features.

"My life would be so much easier if I didn't have to feel these things," he spoke barely above a whisper.

"Feel things about what?" A familiar voice wondered, causing the American to almost jump considering dear God for a minute he thought it was-

"Artie!" Alfred gasped, feeling déjà vu envelop his senses. "Now I know how you feel," he acknowledged, hating how quickly his body was heating up at the thought of being overheard. He turned to properly face his friend, surprised at how many books were stuffed in the plastic bag held in his hands. "Though did you really need to buy out the whole store?"

The Englishman turned bright red, looking at his feet in a vain effort to conceal his rapid blush with his blond bangs. "It's not as much as you think it is," he retorted, shoving the bag in the American's arms with his face still hidden. "J-just books for personal reasons."

Moments like these made Alfred relieved he had superhuman-strength, for he didn't want to imagine how horribly he'd struggle beneath the weight of the bag if he had normal muscles. Even though it was only the one plastic bag, it surprised the tall blond how many books could be shoved into it without it breaking. It didn't surprise the tall blond how Arthur probably dragged the stuff on the floor with both hands since he wasn't strong enough to carry it with one.

"'History of English Sorcery'? 'Spells, Hexes, and Potions'? 'British Black Magic'?" Alfred read the titles of the books out loud, a fair eyebrow rising against his forehead. "Didn't think you were really into this kind of stuff, Artie."

It never ceased to amaze Alfred how often (and vibrant) Arthur could blush. He once tried to keep count of how often the Brit blushed in a single day, but he lost count after the first minute of conversing with him.

"Some books for my mum," Arthur informed as they walked out of the store, zipping up his hoodie since it was a bit brisk for a summer afternoon, the slight chill in the air only worsening the red of his fair features. "While my family is Protestant (or Catholic, I really don't know), mum has always had a mild interest in magic. Since her birthday is coming up, I figured it was about time to purchase some presents for her."

The statement almost made the American stop walking, the fact dawning on his features. "Wait, isn't your mom's birthday next week? Oh crap, I need to get her a gift of some sort!" Alfred exclaimed, feeling like an idiot when the Brit walking beside him laughed.

"Don't worry about it," Arthur reassured, motioning to the mound of books in Alfred's grip. "We can wrap those books and say it's from us both, how about that?"

The bespectacled blond turned pink, guilt creeping up on his senses and hating how his stomach turned to knots at the sound of Arthur's laugh. "I don't know," he said, wondering if the weather was responsible for the warming nature of his face. "I'd feel bad about it since you bought it and all-"

A light hit to the head made him stop his sentence as soon as he started it.

"Think of it as payment for carrying my things, Jones," Arthur huffed in a mock-offended tone, retracting his hand from the American's head as he crossed his arms over his chest. "My mum loves you anyway, so she'll think nothing of it."

Alfred laughed, using his free hand to rub at the already-vanishing blow on his head. "Okay, Kirkland."

The next minute passed in a comfortable silence between the two, broken only when the American asked the Briton how his mother was doing.

"She's doing fine," Arthur replied, his hands in his pockets as his gaze kept on the lookout for possible stores to visit. "Still a bit hung up on us living in the college dorms instead of living with her, but she's gotten used to it."

A small smile surfaced on the smaller blond's cheekbones. "She says she can't get used to how quiet it is now that you're gone," he added, half-joking and half-serious while Alfred laughed again.

"I'm glad to hear that," Alfred commented, following the Englishman inside when he found a store to his liking. "When my parents died while we were in high school, I had no one around to help me. Mattie was in Germany for a study-abroad program, so I was by myself until you and your mom stepped in to give me support."

_The days following his parent's passing went by in a blur, varying in shades of black and white._

_His senses were numb and his heart felt cold; a hollow thump in his chest to remind him that he was alive. His heart beat was as monotonous as the ticking of a clock, and it served as his punishment. His cross to bear for what he had done._

" _If it wasn't for me," he muttered beneath his breath, his vision blurry with saltwater as the darkness of his room seemed to engulf his being, the sound of his pulse thundering in his ears as each 'bum-bump' grew louder with every second. "If it wasn't for me, then-"_

_A soft knock interrupted him before he could go further. He blinked in surprise considering he wasn't expecting anyone to intrude._

" _Alfred? It's me, Arthur," the voice explained through his door, realization replacing the pain of his previous expression. The American suddenly felt vulnerable, exposed as he sat on his knees amongst the darkness of his room. How long had it been since he had gone outside his bedroom? How many days since he had come home and locked himself away?_

_He felt his throat become dry as a million things he wanted to say swarmed into his brain yet unable to come out of his mouth._

_A few more knocks echoed throughout his room, though Alfred remained silent._

" _Alfred, I know you're in there. It's been two days since the funeral and since you holed yourself in there—you need to come out."_

_**Do I, though?** _

_**After what I've done?** _

" _While I don't know how they died, I know how it feels for people to suddenly leave. I know it hurts you, leaves a scar on your heart, and makes you think it was your fault they left-"_

_**It was.** _

_**It really was.** _

" _-When it really_ _wasn't_ _, Alfred. Please, just open the door. For me."_

_Another moment passed in silence, broken only by the sound of sighing from behind the door. A sad sigh._

" _Alright," the voice murmured, causing the American's heart to twitch painfully in his chest. "I'll be leaving, then."_

_The quiet sound of footsteps trailing away from his door sounded louder than his heartbeat, desperation surging through his veins as if he had been injected with an EpiPen._

_Alfred didn't even realize he'd gotten up and opened the door until he saw the Brit walking away, until he felt his arms wrap around the boy's waist from behind, until he pulled him close and buried his head in his shoulder._

_Until he started to cry._

_Since the whole situation happened, he had tried to remain strong. He tried to be brave like he hadn't back then, had tried to hold it in, but now…_

_Now that resolution washed away as quickly as the tears streaming down his face._

" _I'm sorry," he managed to choke out, embarrassment overriding all his emotions as he was unable to stop himself from crying. "I'm sorry for this, but please don't leave me. Please."_

_Alfred couldn't see the Brit's expression, but he assumed it was a soft look based on the tone of his voice. "Don't worry," he stated, unwavering in his stance even as the American continued to sob on his shoulder. "I won't leave. I promise."_

_He couldn't remember how long the two of them stood there, how long it was until he finally managed to calm down. All he remembered was the comforting squeeze of his hands as Arthur asked if he'd like to come to his apartment to watch 'Doctor Who' with him and his mother, and the gentle grip on his hands when he agreed and followed him across the hall._

_**In actuality, he was the one who gave me the most support during those times**_ , Alfred thought, watching the Englishman as he placed random items like roses, peppermint, and eggs onto the self-checkout aisle, his eyes half-lidded behind his glasses and making him seem far older than he actually was.  _ **While his mother took care of me like my mother did, Arthur offered me something else that made everything seem better. I don't know what it was, but I've been indebted to him for years because of it.**_

"Alfred? You've been staring into space for a while now, are you alright?" That voice, that same voice that reached out to him from behind his door, interrupted his train of thought.

The bespectacled blond blinked, glancing at the new grocery bag in the Briton's hand to register that they were finished here before a sheepish smile overtook his features to replace his previous expression.

"Sorry," he laughed, walking out of the store with him and ignoring the strange look he received from the shorter male. "Just thinking's all."

 _ **Only recently have I finally begun to repay my debt, the debt to both my parents**_ _ **and**_ _ **Arthur,**_ Alfred continued to think as he walked with his friend.  _ **To my parents for what I wasn't able to do when they died, and to Arthur for what he's done to me.**_

Alfred smiled.

_**Yes. Using my persona as 'America', I can prevent people from losing their loved ones, and, even if it's through means as simple as putting criminals in jail, I can make the world a place where Arthur can find happiness.** _

_**And I'll start by taking down England.** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed that little bit of insight towards Alfred's backstory. I think this is the first chapter entirely in a particular character’s point-of-view, not to mention we got some USUK action goin’ on~ It’s funny, I meant for this story to primarily be a romance, but I ended up typing a hell of a lot more crime/psychological stuff by accident since it was/is so much fun to write. Though I wanted to treat you guys, my fantabulous readers, to some more USUK since I know you’ve been probably waiting for it.
> 
> Sorry if the characters were OOC or if my writing didn’t make sense--I don’t have any beta-readers or editors of any kind, I rely on myself entirely for all my stories, so I don’t know how good/bad it is to other people. Thank you though for reading this chapter, I’ll try to update soon. Until then? Stay awesome.


	5. The Press Conference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which shit hits the fan for multiple parties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular font indicates the present.
> 
> Italic font indicates flashbacking.
> 
> Bold italic font indicates thought.
> 
> Bold regular font indicates writing/typing.

**METROPOLITAN MUSEUM PRESS CONFERENCE**

**Toris Laurinaitis, New York Times Staff Reporter**

**Xx/xx/xx**

**Updated: 23 minutes ago**

**New York City- Nine days ago, police officers from the New York Police Department surrounded the Metropolitan Museum of Art around 1:30 A.M and invaded the premise after receiving word that a masked figure was spotted entering the museum thirty minutes prior, followed by the superhero America about ten minutes after the masked figure. 2/3 of the squad went inside the museum while 1/3 went to inspect the area around the specified location.**

**The squad sent inside found the fifteen Metropolitan night guards bound and gagged in a locked security room on the first floor. Aside from the rope burns on their limbs, the men appeared to be unharmed regardless of the fact that all the men were tied to chairs with duct tape covering their mouths when they were discovered.**

" **The last thing I remember was being in the security room with the other guards," said Ludwig Beilschmidt, head security guard at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. "We were overlooking the footage from the cameras when a strange smell infiltrated the room and I passed out. When I came to, I was unable to move and talk along with the rest of my men."**

**Rumors have been circulating that a broken glass cylinder was uncovered beside the door of the security room and that the container was sent into a lab for further analysis.**

**The guards and possible cylinder aside, nothing out of the ordinary was found until the squad reached the second floor where they discovered an empty glass container for the historic Ganymede jewelry in the Highlights' section of the museum and a broken lunette window overlooking the front entrance. The Metropolitan Museum has dismissed the idea that the items were stolen, saying that the artifacts in question were taken in for restoration. Whether the statement is true or false has yet to be identified.**

**Closer examination by the outside squad confirmed that the bushes beneath the window were trampled, indicating the possibility that the perpetrator broke through the window and landed in the bushes to escape, though the outside squad later confirmed that America was found a few blocks away. While it is known that the outside police squad found the superhero and most likely asked him what happened, the contents of their conversation are unknown as the information hasn't yet been released by the police.**

**Since that evening, various speculations have arisen all over the media regarding the identity of the Metropolitan figure. Two days ago, photos from the Metropolitan security cameras were leaked onto the internet by an anonymous source, revealing several vague images of America inside the museum and appearing to be looking for something or someone. Along with those photos, the source also revealed photos of the possible perpetrator. The anonymous source only labeled the possible perpetrator as 'England'.**

**While the police have yet to uncover the identity of the source responsible for the 'England' images, the NYPD has finally resolved to give the public an explanation for the Metropolitan Museum incident nine days ago in the form of a press conference taking place later today at the New York University School of Law.**

Arthur finished reading the article on his iphone, turning off his phone and putting it back into his pocket.

"It's all moving as I anticipated," he smirked, leaning back in the chair of his desk and cascading his line-of-sight through the window of his dorm. "Though I didn't think the police would take that course of action so soon in the game."

 _ **The NYPD dug their grave the moment they decided to withhold information regarding the heist from the public,**_  he thought, resting his hand on his cheek as he continued to look out the window. His dorm had a nice view of Washington State Park located near New York University, so it allowed him an even better view of the news reporters gathering in the area to see the upcoming press conference.  _ **The police dismissed the heist by saying the museum took the Ganymede items in for restoration in an attempt to preserve both the museum and the NYPD's reputation. They didn't want to be perceived as weak for America being unable to catch a simple thief, what with America being the police's mascot and all. But information regarding the heist kept getting leaked, causing the public to grow suspicious. It wasn't long before it became obvious that the artifacts were stolen instead of being restored to their former glory.**_

His eyes crinkled as he struggled not to laugh. Arthur redirected his gaze towards the various newspapers and magazines littering his desk, all of the papers and magazines featuring articles that were clearly insulting the police and portraying them in negative light.  _ **The public began to hate the police for lying to them and treating them like they were children by deliberately hiding information. So, the media went out of their way to tarnish the NYPD's reputation by spouting conspiracy theories and blatantly-fake rumors to blackmail the police into giving them the truth about the Metropolitan heist. Not only did they know the NYPD would give into their demands if they pushed hard enough, but they also knew that the sales of their newspapers and magazines would skyrocket. It was a win-win situation either way.**_

After a moment of overlooking the papers and magazines on his desk, he collected them all into a pile and began rolling them into paper balls.  _ **As if the internet was any better. When Kiku uploaded photos of America, it only added fuel to the fire since there was proof that America was there and that he was being forced to keep silent by his superiors. In any other instance, he wouldn't have hesitated to tell the public what really happened as he's incapable of keeping his mouth shut.**_

When he finished rolling all the articles into paper balls, he proceeded to toss each one into the trashcan across the room with his smirk growing bigger.  _ **It was the last straw for everyone when Kiku uploaded photos of England. It was definite proof that the police and museum lied to everyone. It actually got the point where people began to view England as a hero, considering they believed he was showing the police's true nature to the world.**_

Toss.

_**So the NYPD relented at last, deciding it would be better to let people know the truth rather than have people continue to sprout their own fabricated versions of the truth.** _

Toss.

_**The NYPD only recently let lose tiny bits of information, and even then to select newspapers like The New York Times. That information is visible in the article I just read.** _

Toss.

_**And now they're having the press conference to do damage control by stating the facts, in vain efforts of regaining the positive image they lost.** _

A soft sigh escaped from his lips when he tossed the last ball into the trashcan, leaning back in his chair and looking out the window again. "But we both know that won't be so easy," he spoke, his expression lighting up at the sight of the press swarming into the School of Law as the conference was starting in a few minutes. "It's far more difficult to regain trust than it is to gain it. You can consider this my checkmate, 'New York's Finest'."

Arthur opened his clothing bag and raked his gaze across his criminal attire resting within its depths, removing the mask from the bag and turning it over in his hands; how much he admired the way the bright sunlight shone from his window and glistened off the silver tree branches.

_**While Kiku uploading the footage to the internet was the final blow to the police's crumbling façade, that move was a double-edged sword as anyone could recognize my outfit now. On the other hand, with 'England' finally being acknowledged across the media, I can use the name to my advantage and finally accomplish my goals.** _

"With this, I can finally do it," he whispered excitedly, missing the sound of footsteps coming near his door. "With this, I can finally-"

He promptly jumped in his seat when he heard a knock on his door.

 _ **I am having the most bizarre sense of déjà-vu right now,**_  he thought quickly as he shoved the mask into the bag and closed it shut, spinning around in his chair so he could see whoever it was when they came in. "C-come in," he stuttered, hoping to God that the person on the other side didn't hear that.

"A-Arthur-san, could you please open the door for me?" the voice replied from behind his door, relief spreading through the Brit's system as it was only Kiku.

"You and Alfred keep scaring me senseless," he said, standing up and opening the door only for a thick eyebrow to rise against his features when he saw how full the Asian's arms were with…fur?

"What the bloody hell is that thing?" Arthur questioned as he moved to the side so that his roommate could get through, his emerald orbs never leaving whatever the thing was in Kiku's arms.

"Alfred-san's pet," Kiku managed to say through the heaps of fur, setting was what apparently a pet on the floor and collapsing into a chair. Arthur closed the door and sat beside the brunette, still staring in a mixture of awe and fear at the mess of fluffiness currently running in circles on the carpet. "Its name is Americat."

"T-that's a cat?" The blond gasped, in no way screaming like a girl when what was apparently a cat jumped on his lap and started rubbing against his chest. "GOOD GOD, IT'S SO HEAVY! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DOES HE FEED THIS THING?!"

"It's Alfred-san," Kiku deadpanned, scooting away from the purring feline. "What do you think he feeds it?"

"A strict hamburger diet, I'm assuming?" Arthur wondered out loud, grimacing when the cat started licking his cheek since its tongue was really rough. A groan escaped him when the Japanese male beside him nodded. "That was probably a rhetorical question. Leave it to the bloke to be so patriotic, though. Americat? Really?"

Another nod escaped his roommate.

"He's quite creative with names," he murmured in a sarcastic tone, getting a firm grip on the beast so he could properly see what it looked like (though the feat wasn't easy, as it seemed to somehow possess the same absurd strength as its owner.) "He's as good at names as America."

To be honest, the cat wasn't a hulking mass of living fur like he initially thought. Don't get him wrong, it was a big cat with fluffy white fur covering its body, long dark fur around its neck, and thin semi-circle marks under its eyes that kind of looked like glasses. But once his initial bout of horror subsided, he found himself strangely fond of the feline.

"It's actually kind of cute," Arthur mumbled, unable to help the small smile forming on his face when the cat resumed licking his cheeks. It kind of reminded him of a grumpy Scottish Fold he used to have as a pet when he was younger, though it wasn't nearly as affectionate as this cat was. "I wonder why it likes me so much?"

Kiku smirked a miniscule amount at that. "Perhaps because it's a lot like Alfred-san?" He teased, chuckling when the Brit proceeded to blush like a Mediterranean tomato. "Regardless, Alfred-san requested me to keep an eye on Americat until he returned from the press conference at the School of Law."

"The press conference? Why on Earth would he go to that when he can barely sit still for longer than five minutes?" The blond asked while absentmindedly petting the feline, his brow furrowing in confusion as he tried to imagine Alfred sitting still. After a moment, he stopped trying to imagine it since it was too unrealistic.

Kiku shrugged. "Told me it was for one of his classes," the brunette answered, standing up and grabbing his school bag. "And speaking of which," he began as he headed for the door. "I need to go to the conference too."

Arthur's eyes widened in surprise. "You need to go to the conference as well? Why? What about the cat?"

Kiku smirked again. "I'm also going for one of my classes," he admitted, opening the door and poking his head out so he could still see his roommate. "Not to mention it's not often that a superhero visits the school."

That statement caught the Arthur's attention. "Wait, superhero? Kiku!"

The Japanese male closed the door so that he wouldn't have to answer, leaving the Briton engulfed in silence save for the purring ball of fur still sitting on his lap.

"So America's here?" Arthur acknowledged, standing up with the cat held to his chest and walking towards his window. He set Americat down on his desk and looked down at the crowd gathering in front of the School of Law, grimacing at the thought of his nemesis somewhere in that area. It was disturbing to think the superhero was so close yet so far away. In any other situation, it would be the ideal time to get his revenge for leaving the Metropolitan Museum so abruptly, but with the public, press, and police all intermingling in the same premise, that would be practically suicide.

"Though when did he end up coming? Surely I would have seen him arrive considering I was next to the window for a while," he expressed, not noticing how much Americat was smelling the bag on his desk containing his England attire. "And he couldn't have come now, otherwise he would be hounded by the press! How did he sneak past so easily?"

He opened the window and stuck his head out, leaning down a miniscule amount in case he somehow missed the masked idiot.  _ **No matter,**_  he thought bitterly as he came back inside and turned his back from the window, his hand on his chin in a thinking motion.  _ **He'd stick out like a sore thumb even if I did see him there.**_

"Well, it's not like it'll really matter," he admitted, shrugging his shoulders. "I mean, it's not like I'll be going to the conference any time soon-"

He stopped his statement as soon as he turned in the direction of the window again, his words lost in his throat considering the window was open, the cat was gone, and the bag containing his England attire was gone too.

_**Shit.** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I wonder when this stopped being a USUK fanfic and turned into a Code Geass fanfic. I didn’t mean for it to happen, it just kind of…did. Though, I have to say, this next chapter is going to be FUN AS HELL to write.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, I’ll try to update soon with chapter 6. Until then? Stay awesome.


	6. An Unusual Form of Checkmate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which cats are chased and drastic measures undertaken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular font indicates the present.
> 
> Italic font indicates flashbacking.
> 
> Bold italic font indicates thought.
> 
> Bold regular font indicates writing/typing.

Alfred rubbed his temples to stave off his oncoming headache, wishing he had enough foresight to bring along some pills that could prevent his skull from throbbing with pain every ten seconds.

To be honest, Alfred F. Jones was fine with press conferences. As a superhero, they were a necessity as they helped increase his popularity with the public and gave him an opportunity to reach all media outlets while controlling the message he wanted to convey.

But that was an entirely different story if he was sitting beside the police and contributing nothing whatsoever to the topic at hand.

" _The Metropolitan Museum incident has caused our support to go downhill," the Chief of the New York Police Department, Vash Zwingli, informed over the phone in his usual serious tone, albeit with a hint of shame within his voice. "With the media at our throats and the public in uproar, we need to fix this situation before it gets even more out of hand."_

" _What do you recommend we do?" Alfred asked, holding the iphone closer to his ear out of paranoia. While he possessed a phone reserved for superhero-related calls and ensured that nobody, not even the cops, could trace it back to his location, the American was always afraid of being overheard. Precaution was always a virtue to abide by, after all. "The NYPD is treading a mine field at the moment. One wrong move could result in a bigger blow than anything England could cause."_

" _On one hand, the public could view the NYPD as a group of individuals trying to apologize for their actions," the Department Chief sighed, him likely being the one to massage his temples as means of reducing a headache. "Yet on the other hand, people could view the NYPD as a group of cowards with their backs against the wall. Yes, I'm fully aware of the current epidemic, America."_

" _What has the Commissioner said about it?" The American wondered out loud with his eyes narrowing behind his glasses, absentmindedly stroking his fluffy white cat (with whom he dubbed 'Americat' for patriotic reasoning; God bless America) resting on his lap in an attempt to lower his blood pressure._

" _It seems that you_ _do_ _become intelligent when the need arises," the chief remarked sarcastically, causing Alfred to roll his blue eyes at the statement. "I figured it was just a myth. Yes, the Police Commissioner is technically uninvolved with our current circumstances as this mess resides purely with the uniformed members of the force. While he isn't a uniformed member of the force, he has agreed to offer us advice but is formally bound by his duties to remain away until the mayor of New York deems it a big problem."_

" _You'd figure the public possibly turning on New York's finest would be a big problem," Alfred mumbled, leaning back in his sofa and staring at the ceiling. He grimaced when Americat stood up and walked over his legs, soft mewing emitting from the feline who now sat near the door. "Did he have any advice for us?"_

" _He recommends a press conference should be held later today," Zwingli replied, catching the blond by surprise. "He said that the first step is to cut the plant by its roots and stop the media from badmouthing us."_

" _D-don't you think that's a hasty decision?" The American coughed out, wondering if he heard him right. 'O' had anticipated they would move fast to prevent the fire from spreading any further, but Alfred thought it would take longer for the police to do it. "You said so yourself—we could either be depicted as honest or cowardly depending on the generosity of the media! Surely we should wait a little longer to see if they finally run out of crap to publish, right?"_

" _Regardless of whether or not that'll happen, we should take responsibility for our actions and be out front about it to the public," Vash stated firmly, making Alfred's words die in his throat. "Besides, the media won't deny how big of a risk we're taking. They can't turn that around no matter how hard they try."_

_After a moment, the American sighed. "Alright," he said, unable to help the sensation of his stomach twisting into knots given he had a bad feeling about this. "What do you need me to do?"_

And thus, the current predicament at hand.

In other words, Alfred F. Jones sitting around and doing nothing.

 _ **Zwingli said that just because we were going to be honest about the Metropolitan incident doesn't mean we should explain everything immediately,**_  he thought, his hands turning to fists at his sides as he cast his bespectacled gaze to the stoic Department Chief sitting next to him.  _ **That the first step we should take is to admit our mistake and say what happened, then delve deeper into details the further along we get.**_

He inwardly grimaced when recalling what Vash told him before the conference began, trying his best to maintain his composed outward appearance.

" _You want me to_ _what_ _?" Alfred questioned, unable to believe what he was hearing._

_Vash sighed, mentally counting to ten before he restated his sentence. "We want you to refrain from talking about 'England' at this press conference. While we're taking a risk with this situation, we're easing into it as slowly as we can by pacing out information. If we divulge too much information at once, we'll give off the illusion that we were hiding more than the public initially thought."_

" _But one of the reasons people started getting angry was because you guys told me to stay quiet about the Metropolitan Museum incident in the first place," the American objected, crossing his arms over his emblem-covered chest. "If word gets out that you guys were making me withhold what I knew again, than this entire press conference would get nothing accomplished in regards to the police regaining their positive reputation!"_

" _Look, all we're asking is to not say anything about 'England' until we're closer in our goal to get back what we lost," the chief asserted, his green eyes narrowing as his pool of patience started to resemble a puddle. "Keep in mind that a decent portion of the internet considers 'England' a hero. When the public has reinstated a bit of their confidence in the NYPD, then you can tell them what you know about 'England'."_

" _What if they ask about it at today's conference?" The superhero scoffed from behind his mask. "It'll look suspicious if I suddenly change the topic."_

" _Say how you're still trying to sort out what happened and it won't be long before you can confidently recall everything from that night," Zwingli retorted, readjusting his I.D tag to ensure it wouldn't be lopsided in the pictures that would be taken at the conference. "Just you being there will restore a bit of the people's faith in us, as it means_ _you_ _have faith in us."_

When recalling that statement, Alfred sighed softly.

 _ **I want to have faith in the NYPD,**_  he thought as he stood up with the other police officers when they stopped the press conference for a fifteen-minute break, sneaking behind the backstage curtains to steer clear of the reporters gathering in the main hall.  _ **I want to believe that what they're instructing me to do is for the betterment of New York and its civilians, yet I can't help but feel like I'm just a figurehead.**_

After a moment, he rubbed his temples again. "Gah," he moaned melodramatically. "All this is making me depressed. I need some fresh air."

 _ **Though Zwingli would get mad at me if I got swarmed by the press while I was outside since I could let slip something that could send us back to square one,**_  he continued to think as he opened the back door to the building and peered outside. Surprisingly, there was no one around the back area of Washington State Park.

"Probably since most of the people who live in this area attend the School of Law, so it's likely they're still inside with the reporters," the masked blond murmured beneath his breath as he fully emerged from behind the back door, whatever semblance of a headache vanishing as soon as he inhaled the scent of gasoline and hot dogs.

Yes, it smelled like New York, like his home.

"-OI, GET THE BLOODY HELL OVER HERE THIS INSTANT, YOU ACURSED FELINE!"

His nostalgia was broken when he heard a familiar voice shout that sentence followed by a familiar blur of white fur dash across his line-of-sight followed by an even more familiar blur of messy blond hair and an oversized green sweater chasing after said blur of white fur.

The American paused as he took a moment to process whatever the hell he just saw, before taking a deep breath and turning his head to see what was going on.

It appeared that Arthur was chasing Americat around Washington State Park and was failing horribly at it given the state of the Brit's heavy breathing and trembling figure. Arthur was always stubborn, not to mention incapable of running up a flight of stairs without passing out in the middle of the staircase.

"I thought Kiku was supposed to be watching over Americat," he commented, observing the Englishman attempt/fail to catch the nimble cat. "But I guess he left him in the hands of Artie for whatever reason."

It was then that he noticed that his cat was carrying something between his teeth as he climbed up the tree—a medium-sized fabric bag, to be exact.

"I wonder where I've seen that before," he mumbled while stepping from behind the tree, his gaze darting from Arthur to Americat to the bag. "I can't remember for the life of me. Why would Artie be chasing him so desperately, though?"

He gasped in a manner found in a Japanese anime. "Maybe it contains some embarrassing secret of his? A picture of him at New Years'? Some sappy poetry? Women's underwear?"

The blond shook that last idea away, blaming the warm weather for the reddening tips of his ears.

"Whatever it is, it's clear he needs some help," he decided as he rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles for dramatic effect. "He's not going to stop until he achieves his goal, so I should lend him a hand before he hurts himself."

 _ **Though I need to be quick to retrieve Americat before Artie does,**_  the superhero thought while jogging over to where the Briton was attempting/failing to scale the tree like Ezio from 'Assassins' Creed'.  _ **But, since this**_ _ **is**_ _ **Artie we're talking about, I doubt it'll be that difficult to do.**_

"'Scuse me, sir," Alfred said, tapping the shorter blond on the shoulder. "You look like you could use some help with that cat of yours."

"Trust me, I'm perfectly fine on my own-" Arthur began, turning around and ending his statement as soon as he registered who it was. His eyes grew wider than the American had ever seen before, thus making Alfred even more curious to find out what was in that bag of his to provoke such a response.

His curiosity increased ten-fold as the Brit quickly splayed himself against the tree, completely pale at the sight of the superhero. "T-t-trust me when I say I'm perfectly fine on my own, thank you!" He exclaimed, rousing the tall blond's interests even further.

Alfred employed the aid of his '100% American' smile to try calming the male's nerves. "Don't worry about it," he laughed, grabbing hold of a tree branch and hoisting himself upwards. "I'll be quicker than the Flash!"

"N-no, seriously, I'm perfectly fine with catching him myself," Arthur fretted before grabbing a different tree branch and forcing himself on top of it, grabbing another branch and climbing towards the cat. "As you can see, I'm quite skilled at tree-climbing so there's really no need to worry about me!"

"Nonsense," Alfred reassured, climbing up at a faster pace than the Brit and wondering if it was an accident when the bushy-browed boy beneath him had tried grabbing hold of his ankle. "I'm up here anyway, and you look pretty tired as it is. Though is it the cat you're worried about, or is it the bag he's holding?"

"T-t-that's none of your concern!" The Englishman exclaimed, increasing his speed so that he was on the branch below the American and extending his hand towards the content feline sitting on the branch a little ways away from where they were. "And I'm more concerned for the welfare of the cat!"

"Right," Alfred drawled in a sarcastic tone, climbing up on the same branch as his cat and extending his arms. "Come on, little kitten," he started with sugar lacing his voice. "Don't be scared, daddy's here to help you down!"

"'Daddy'?" Arthur asked, a thick eyebrow rising against his forehead as he tried to climb on the branch supporting the superhero and the feline.

"I-I'm just trying to comfort it," the masked blond rephrased, surprise overcoming his expression when Americat swiped a claw at his outstretched hands and started hissing. "Hey! Don't be like that!"

"I guess he doesn't like you," the shorter Briton announced with a roll of his eyes. "Seriously, I'll handle this."

"No way, dude, animals love me," Alfred disagreed, wondering what could be the source of his cat's distrust-

 _ **Of course! He doesn't recognize me because of the mask!**_  He thought, realization dawning on his features. He remedied the situation as soon as Arthur had turned his head to glance back at the ground.

"It's daddy," he whispered to the cat, quickly putting the mask back on and sighing with relief when the feline jumped into his arms and started purring against his chest. "Thank God."

"What was that?" Arthur wondered out loud, redirecting his attention to the superhero and paling even worse than before when seeing how the hero was successful in the catching of the cat. "Oh…g-great."

"Told you animals love me," Alfred smirked, climbing down the branches and getting back on the ground with a Brit hot on his heels. Unable to control his curiosity anymore, he removed the bag from Americat's clutches and prepared to undo the string responsible for keeping it closed. "Now, about what was in the bag-"

Before he could even undo the string, much less blink, Arthur pulled him close and kissed him.

~ na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na~

_**There's no way in Hell I'm letting my identity be revealed like this!** _ _Arthur thought as he sprinted after the cat currently sniffing its stolen prize, already out of breath given he_ _did_ _run down several flights of stairs. He was never as much of an exercise-nut as Alfred was._

" _Come on over here, Americat!" He cried out, reaching forward and mentally cursing when the feline saw the whole situation as a game of tag and started running with the bag containing his criminal clothes in tow. For something so fluffy and/or fat, it was surprisingly quick on its paws. "I said OI, GET THE BLOODY HELL OVER HERE THIS INSTANT, YOU ACURSED FELINE!"_

_His legs and lungs were burning as he continued to chase the mound of white fur, each heave that seemed an hour longer than the last; had he known he would end up spending his afternoon running after a cholesterol-ridden animal instead of watching the NYPD squirm like an injured ant, he would have decided against wearing an oversized sweater._

" _This git's going to be the end of me whether America gets his hands on me or not," he whispered hoarsely as he leaned on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath, glaring at the cat currently situated on a high branch of a tree. "Though it could be much worse."_

"' _Scuse me, sir," a familiar voice said as Arthur vaguely registered the sensation of his shoulder being tapped, though he frankly couldn't care less. "You look like you could use some help with that cat of yours."_

" _Trust me, I'm perfectly fine on my own-" he began as he stood up properly and turned to face whoever it was offered their assistance, whatever color somehow present in his face vanishing at the sight of an obnoxious white mask with even more obnoxious blue stars._

_**Shit.** _

" _T-t-trust me when I say I'm perfectly fine on my own, thank you!" He exclaimed, splaying against the bark of the tree in hopes that the American idiot would_ _take the bloody hint that this was a no-go zone!_

" _Don't worry about it," America laughed, grabbing hold of a tree branch and hoisting himself upwards. "I'll be quicker than the Flash!"_

_**As expected, his ability to sense the atmosphere is as existent as his intelligence,** _ _he thought sourly. "N-no, seriously, I'm perfectly fine with catching him myself," he fretted, grabbing a different tree branch and forcing himself on top of it before grabbing another branch and climbing towards the cat. "As you can see, I'm quite skilled at tree-climbing so there's really no need to worry about me!"_

" _Nonsense," America reassured, climbing up at a faster pace than the Brit who internally groaned and tried to grab one of his stupid fabric boots to slow him down, grimacing when the blond escaped his grasp just as quickly._

_**That is to say, nonexistent.** _

" _I'm up here anyway, and you look pretty tired as it is." He resumed. "Though is it the cat you're worried about, or is it the bag he's holding?"_

_His blood froze in his veins. Right, Alfred's cat from Hell stole his bag and could possibly lead to him being discovered by his American arch-nemesis. Shit, shit, shit._

" _T-t-that's none of your concern!" The Englishman exclaimed as he increased his speed so that he was on the branch below the American, who was close to finally catching the content feline sitting on the branch a little ways away from where they were. The shorter blond's pulse was roaring in his ear as he struggled to reach the cat, desperate to contain his secret. "And I'm more concerned for the welfare of the cat!"_

_**If luck is on my side, he won't catch my blatant lie-** _

" _Right," the American drawled in a sarcastic tone._

_**-Should have seen that one coming.** _

" _Come on, little kitten," America started after climbing on the same branch as the demonic Americat and extending his arms, sugar lacing his voice. "Don't be scared, daddy's here to help you down!"_

"' _Daddy'?" Arthur asked, a thick eyebrow rising against his forehead as he tried to climb on the branch supporting the superhero and the feline._

" _I-I'm just trying to comfort it," the masked blond rephrased, surprise overcoming his expression when Americat swiped a claw at his outstretched hands and started hissing. "Hey! Don't be like that!"_

_The Brit repressed the urge to laugh. Maybe that cat wasn't as bad as he thought it was._

_Or maybe it was as bad as he thought it was and did that to lower his guard. He honestly wouldn't have second-guessed it at this point._

" _I guess he doesn't like you," the Briton announced with a roll of his eyes. "Seriously, I'll handle this."_

" _No way, dude, animals love me," America disagreed, making Arthur roll his eyes a second time as he looked away. Maybe if he could distract the superhero in some way, he could swipe the bag away before he could look inside?_

_**Though how could I do that?** _ _He thought, biting his lip as he ran numerous scenarios through his mind. Take the bag and run? No, he was in_ _no_ _shape to run, especially against_ _America_ _of all people. Kick him in the nuts and run? Tempting thought, definitely tempting thought-_

" _-nk God." America whispered around the same time that Arthur turned back to face him._

" _What was that?" Arthur wondered out loud, redirecting his attention to the superhero and paling even worse than before when seeing how the hero was successful in the catching of the cat. "Oh…g-great."_

_**I'm dead. I am so dead. I am so dead that, when someone from my family tries to summon me from the depths of Hell, some other abomination will come in my place and say that I'm** _ _**still** _ _**out of commission!** _

" _Told you animals love me," America smirked, climbing down the branches and getting back on the ground with Arthur hot on his heels. No way was he going to die in this life and the next without a fight. "Now, about what was in the bag-"_

_And, without even thinking, Arthur grabbed the obnoxious American superhero by the scruff of his commercialized outfit, pulled him close, and kissed him on the mouth._

He tried his best to squish the overwhelming, gut-wrenching embarrassment he was experiencing at the moment (along with the weird, fluttery feeling in his chest most likely caused by residing adrenaline and lack of oxygen from physical taxation), instead focusing on carefully removing the fabric bag from the hero's fingers. The Brit was astonished at how lax the masked idiot's grip on the bag became in such a short amount of time, but he decided against taking it for granted by hiding the bag behind his back before pulling away.

"Thank you so much for your help, love," he breathed, relishing how wide America's sapphire eyes grew and how the vibrantly he blushed beneath his horizontal half-mask, an odd sense of accomplishment residing with the aforementioned gut-wrenching embarrassment he was hiding rather well.

It seemed the hero was at a loss of words for once (a feat the shorter blond never thought possible), his temporary paralysis bestowing Arthur the chance to walk away with Americat and the bag in tow.

As soon as he was out of America's sight, he dashed up the stairs before the superhero could realize that the bag was no longer in his grasp, already used to the burning sensation in his legs and lungs at this point given he had been running all over the place.

He ripped open the door to his dorm and slammed it shut as he let go of the cat and slid against the door, the bag held close to his chest as he willed his breathing to regulate.

The blond exhaled a deep sigh of relief when acknowledging that his secret was safe and he was no longer in the presence of the American nuisance, a worn-out smile working its way against his pale features as he stood up on wobbly legs and walked back to the window to check on said American nuisance, who was still frozen beneath the tree in Washington State Park.

Arthur allowed himself to smirk, closing the window before Americat could jump out with his bag and possibly reveal his alter-ego a second time. His forehead felt cool and relaxed against the glass of the window.

"Consider this my checkmate, 'New York's famous superhero'."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Oh Arthur, you loveable badass you~
> 
> So how you like that? There’s some USUK action for you readers of mine since I know you’ve been wanting it. So, yeah, this ended up MUCH longer than expected, but I quite like the route this is going. And yes, I made it so that Vash/Switzerland is the Department Chief of the NYPD, since he’s an awesome trigger-happy guy who wants to preserve the peace even if his methods of preserving said peace are questionable. I initially wanted it to be Ludwig/Germany, but then I had this idea that he’s the head of the Metropolitan Museum security who happens to have a crush on a famous Italian artist whose works are on display at the museum he’s working at~ You’ll notice throughout this fanfiction that there’ll be characters with varying roles mentioned throughout it, so just keep that in mind.
> 
> Anyway, there’s chapter 6. Sorry if it was confusing at some points, but I'll try to update soon. Until then? Stay awesome.


	7. Reprecussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the aftermath of certain events are discussed. Also, Kiku comes up with an idea for an awesome BL doujinshi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular font indicates the present.
> 
> Italic font indicates flashbacking.
> 
> Bold italic font indicates thought.
> 
> Bold regular font indicates writing/typing.

Arthur kissed him.

Arthur kissed him.

Good God, Arthur kissed him!

Alfred spent the next minute staring into space with a slack-jawed expression replacing his previous expression consisting of wide eyes and profusely-blushing cheeks. His heart was thumping in his chest, his stomach was twisting into knots, and he couldn't stop touching his lips as he tried to comprehend the fact that Arthur just kissed him!

 _ **He kissed me,**_  he thought once he finally walked away from the tree and opened the backstage door to the School of Law, completely oblivious to his surroundings as he continued to dwell in his thoughts. He vaguely remembered sitting back down beside Department Chief Zwingli and nodding in agreement to whatever the hell it was he said even though he didn't register what his sentence was at all.  _ **I never imagined him doing something like that out of nowhere. Though wait-**_

His face bloomed into fifty shades of red when the realization hit him like a ton of bricks.  _ **That was Arthur's first kiss. Oh God, he gave me his mouth-virginity! Wait, that came out wrong-**_

"Excuse me? I have, like, some questions I'd like to ask America?"

Alfred immediately dropped out of his stupor and redirected his attention to reality at the sound of his alias. He was unable to mask his surprise at the fact that someone actually wanted to ask him some questions considering that, since he released the statement that Chief Zwingli requested, not a single audience member had spoken to him.

" _Before this conference officially begins, I'd like to make an important statement regarding the Metropolitan Museum incident," Alfred announced, standing up from his seat and wincing at the bright camera flashes that caught his image. He blinked a few times when getting a good estimate of how many people were there._

_He swallowed in an attempt to swallow signs of his nervousness, hoping that the media would take the statement in a positive way. "As of this current time, I am unable to recall much information pertaining to the events from nine days ago-"_

_From there he was interrupted by the press firing questions at him like bullets from a gun._

" _Are you being restrained by the police department?"_

" _Is the NYPD restricting your freedom of speech?"_

" _Is your memory lapse the result of some kind of injury at the Metropolitan Museum?"_

" _What of the photos posted on the internet revealing your search of the museum?"_

" _Do you recall any information about the 'England' character posted on the internet?"_

" _-As of this current time, I am unable to recall any information pertaining to the events from nine days ago," he repeated, causing the audience to go silent. "Because of how massive this situation has become in the last few days. It's not uncommon for people to forget information when suddenly given attention."_

" _How long do you estimate it will take until you fully regain your memory?"_

" _Are you implying that the NYPD has been giving you unnecessary hardship for over a week since the incident?"_

" _Does this mean that you will be unable to catch the 'England' character if they attempt to strike the museum a second time?"_

_Alfred could feel a headache coming on. Would it kill them to just let him finish his statement without jumping like piranhas? "I doubt it'll take long." He continued, crossing his fingers behind his back that his proclamation wouldn't somehow come back to haunt him. "However, until I can properly remember everything relating the Metropolitan Museum incident, I request that all questions in need of specified details are put on hiatus."_

No one had asked him any questions after that, the exception being this reporter who stood up and flashed their I.D from where they were amongst the audience members.

"Feliks Łukasiewicz, columnist of New York Post," he introduced, flipping some strands of shoulder-length blond hair to get it out of his way. "Tell me, like, what is your relationship with the man pictured in the photo recently uploaded to the internet?"

All the color drained from Alfred's face as his mind ceased thinking. "Sorry," he apologized with a scratch of his head, laughing to diffuse the awkward silence. "I think I misheard you. Could you please repeat what you said?"

 _ **Photo recently uploaded to the internet?**_  The American wondered as he tried to remember any instances where he could have been caught on camera. A few instances came to mind (like the Metropolitan Museum incident for example), but even if there were photos relating to said instances, they would have been uploaded ages ago.  _ **Is it possible I could have missed something? Perhaps it's a ploy meant to make me reveal something by mistake? Well, The New York Post**_ _ **is**_ _ **a tabloid newspaper infamous for its gossip-centered articles and non-credible sources.**_

A saucy smirk etched itself onto the blond's features, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know, the man shown in the photo taken a few minutes ago in Washington State Park?" He rephrased, removing his iphone and pulling up a picture on an internet tab. He waded his way through the crowd and passed the phone to the superhero who quickly accepted it and stared blankly at the pixelated image on the screen.

It was uploaded to the same site responsible for the original screenshots of 'America' and 'England' at the Metropolitan Museum. Only it didn't depict England or any of the instances he initially imagined. No, it depicted him, 'America', kissing Arthur Kirkland in broad daylight.

"W-who uploaded this photo?" He spoke barely above a whisper, relieved that half his face was covered by his mask considering it helped cover how pale he became in such a short amount of time. "How long ago was this taken?"

"A few minutes before the conference resumed," Feliks informed, crossing his arms over his chest with a light eyebrow rising against his fair features. "And the source was anonymous. I totally received a notification from the website the moment it was uploaded, since I added the site as a favorite on my phone after debuting pictures of you and 'England'."

 _ **Is it possible that the source responsible for this photo is the same person responsible for the photos of England and I?**_  Alfred thought, sweat forming on his brow at the idea.  _ **Is it possible that the person who uploaded the photo is still at this conference?**_

"Regardless of the picture's origin," the columnist resumed, shrugging his shoulders. "Do you care to admit whether it's a fake or not?"

 _ **What do I do?**_  He mentally debated, returning the phone back to its owner before he broke it with his immense strength. He had lost many phones from accidentally breaking them due to stress.  _ **If I lie and say it's a fake, then the public would lose their trust in myself**_ _ **and**_ _ **the police if word ever got out it was true! Though if I admit that it's real, then who knows how the people will react? Who knows how Arthur will react? Though Arthur kissed America, not me…**_

Alfred pondered over the sensation of his heart squeezing when that last thought crossed his mind, hesitantly pushing it aside so that he could remain focused on the current situation at hand. He couldn't allow himself to get distracted by something that would probably lessen over time, not when his choice of words here could end up with serious repercussions later on.

"I-in regards to the photo," he started, hoping that the crowd didn't hear his stuttering. He doubted it though, given how everyone's attention was resting on him and him alone this present moment. "I would like to declare that the photo is-"

"Legitimate," a voice acknowledged, causing the hero's eyes to dilate and his heart to pause. He swiftly turned to the side to see who was responsible for finishing his sentence, his mask unable to conceal his surprise when he saw determined green eyes staring him down.

"The photo is legitimate," Vash Zwingli concluded, folding his hands on the table before him while signaling with his head for Alfred to sit back down as he ignored the shocked aura emitting from the Polish columnist who, along with all the reporters there, was scribbling down the information without hesitation. "Any other questions for America while we're discussing this particular subject?"

And so, the media-equivalent of Pandora's Box was opened.

"Are the two lovers by any means?"

"Is the male the one who initiated the kiss or was it America?"

"Does this confirm America's sexuality?"

"Was the kiss of gratuitous or romantic intent?"

"Who is that boy?!"

Alfred sank back in his seat, no longer hiding how deeply he was rubbing his temples as he no longer cared. This was obviously going to be a longer press conference than he thought.

~ na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na~

**America's Secret Lover**

**By: Feliks Łukasiewicz**

**Xx/xx/xx**

**Updated: 25 minutes ago**

**America, New York's famous superhero who girls drool over and boys envy, revealed a stunning tidbit of personal information at the Metropolitan Museum press conference that took place at NYU's School of Law earlier today.**

" **Yes, I will fully admit that I was kissed by the man in the picture," said America after some coaxing from the Department Chief of the NYPD, Vash Zwingli. "To be honest, I expected it to be just between us, so I'm a little embarrassed."**

**The superhero later released a statement after leaving the room with Zwingli for a few minutes, addressing the circumstances in which the homosexual kiss was found.**

" **It's a typical hero story," he said. "Hero saves a cat, and the cat's owner thanks them. I saved his cat after it climbed up a tree, so he thanked me for it."**

**However, in spite of how often he was poked and prodded by questions, he didn't reveal the identity of the man in the picture.**

**Based on the picture uploaded to the internet shortly after the press conference's fifteen-minute break and the fact that it was openly acknowledged makes it all seem believable. But as the picture was uploaded by an unknown source, it leaves the situation open for guessing.**

**No one can deny how rare this piece of information is as America is notorious for never revealing personal information of** **any kind whatsoever** **. Is it possible that America, the apple of the New York Police Department's eye and the epitome of superheroes everywhere, is** **gay** **? If so, does he know the true identity of the person who kissed him? Is he his lover? What is his name and relationship with America?**

**With luck, these questions will hopefully be answered later on.**

Arthur didn't realize his phone had dropped to the floor until a resounding 'THUMP' jolted him out of his daze. Even then, he only glanced down at the phone for a second before the weight of the present predicament crashed down on him again.

He sat down on the sofa and buried his face in his hands, leaning back until he was pretty sure he would be looking at the ceiling if his line-of-sight wasn't blocked by his palms. "Oh God," he whispered, hoping this was all some bad dream. "What have I done?"

"Arthur-san?" Kiku asked before sitting beside the blond and inspecting him curiously, his brown eyes taking in the slump of the Brit's shoulders and the (even more) tousled state of his hair. "Are you feeling ill? You've been a bit odd since I came back from the press conference."

"Kiku, what the hell have I done?" Arthur questioned, removing his hands and encountering the gaze of the Japanese male beside him, his eyes akin to those of a mad man. "I-I did something wrong, something that ended up backfiring in my face!"

His roommate looked at him warily, leaning away out of precaution. "What did you do, Arthur-san?"

Arthur retracted his back against the sofa again, his hands covering his face once more. "Oh God," he groaned, his voice muffled by skin and flesh. "I kissed the bloody idiot."

A dark eyebrow rose against the Asian's forehead. "Alfred-san?"

A surprised expression overtook his features when the Englishman shook his head.

"-Merica," he mumbled, making Kiku roll his eyes and ask him to speak louder. "I kissed America!" He confessed, cringing at the audible gasp the Japanese emitted like something out of an anime. "I bloody kissed him!"

"You…kissed America?" Kiku responded, his eyes widening until the Briton feared they might pop out of his skull. "You actually kissed him? I thought you hated him!"

"I do! I hate him so much!" Arthur exclaimed, standing up from the couch and pacing around the room to occupy his body with something. A growl escaped his throat at the thought of the commercialized figurehead with his annoying product placement and self-proclaimed 'hero voice'. "I hate him so much I can barely think of him without wanting to punch something! Him and his U.S-sized ego and his disturbingly-patriotic love for all things American!"

And then, contrary to the belief of his roommate, Arthur Kirkland did not proceed to grab a pillow and scream into it like a fangirl whose OTP finally got together.

He then proceeded to not punch the pillow until resembled feathers more than it did fabric, all the while grumbling about 'stupid, stupid America' and 'I hate his stupid face' until he collapsed into the abused cushion.

"What am I going to do about this, Kiku?" He wondered out loud as he sat down on the couch and rested on his stomach, mentally berating himself for sounding so pathetic in the eyes of his right-hand man. "If I didn't kiss him, he would have found out who I am, but since I did-"

"-You created an entirely different situation than you initially predicted?" Kiku finished as he grabbed Arthur's phone and scanned through the article the Briton had finished reading. He couldn't help but whistle at the sight, mentally saving the article's Boy-Love image in his mind as he came up with an awesome doujinshi idea.

"Yeah," Arthur murmured, his speech distorted by pillows (or remnants thereof) as opposed to his hands. "Pretty much it. I didn't think it'd turn out this badly."

"In any other circumstance, the NYPD wouldn't have hesitated to say the picture taken was a lie," the brunette spoke, creating a new tab on the phone and searching up ' **America's gay lover** ' on Google to see the results. He whistled again at how many results popped up in 0.21 seconds. "However, they decided to use the picture to their advantage by temporarily drawing the attention away from themselves and onto America. They used him as bait and set him out to dry so that the press could have something other than the police's Metropolitan blunder to publish."

He registered Arthur's head nodding from the corner of his eye as he looked through the repeated images showing up on different websites of varying reliability, ranging from credible sources like The New York Times to non-credible sources like The New York Post.

All of the images pertained to the same shot taken on someone's iphone, pertaining to America and Arthur kissing beneath a tree. From the angle it was taken, only a small portion of Arthur's criminal bag could be seen. Not enough to convict him of possibly being 'England', but enough to arouse suspicion. He made a mental note to tell Arthur of it later.

"Not only could they potentially get the attention off them for a change, but they hope that the media will be so focused on America actually revealing some personal information about himself (even if it was a microscopic amount), that the Metropolitan incident would be swept under the rug and forgotten about it without the need for any more press conferences," the Asian mentioned, causing the Brit to suddenly lift his head up from the pillow, a mixture of shock and anger residing against his fair features. "In other words-"

"-Our actions will have been meaningless," Arthur finished, rolling over so that he was lying on his back instead of on his stomach and grabbing his laptop. He opened it and returned to the stolen-goods portion of the Ayuramih black market website, Ailateh.

"I decided to become a criminal for two reasons, and two reasons only," the blond recalled while looking over the bidders who had expressed interest (and sums of money, very large sums of money) on the Ganymede artifacts currently in his possession. "Reason number one was to make Alfred F. Jones confess his love to me."

Kiku nodded, remembering the thoughts he experienced when the Englishman first told him of that particular motive. He thought Arthur was insane and that his methods of achieving his goal were even more insane, but strangely, it all sounded insane enough to work. He found himself wanting to see what would happen, to watch it all unfold, to take part in the action and in the drama by any means necessary.

"The second reason," Arthur carried on, his emerald eyes catching sight of the highest bidding offer from a man only labeled as 'Russia'. "Was to bring dishonor and ruin to the New York Police Department, and to their precious puppet, America."

Ah yes, that was the motive that didn't capture the Asian's interests as much as the first one had, but it was icing to the cake in his opinion. Again, he thought Arthur was insane and that his methods were just as (if not more) insane, but his curiosity and desire to see it happen with his own eyes resulted in him taking part in the Brit's schemes.

His entire life, Kiku had been born and raised with standards to live up to with a specified way of living he had to uphold. His path had been decided before he was a murmur in his mother's womb and he had been bored to death because of it, but too scared to make a first move that could alter his fate.

But that all changed the moment he met Arthur Kirkland.

Arthur was different. Outwardly, he appeared to be just like Kiku; a smart, capable person whose future was already laid out for him. But after living with the blond for a few months, he came to realize how drastically different Arthur was from himself. Arthur was sarcastic and cynical, sharp-tongued with a razor-like wit that could cut thin or deep depending on his mood. He was the man who claimed to be an 'Absolutely Invincible English Gentleman', yet was known for dawning leather pants, lip-rings, and eyeliner from time to time. He was abstract, cunning, unpredictable, an excellent strategist, and the only person Kiku had ever known who could burn water.

And Kiku envied him.

He envied him, the little quirks of his personality that were like cells of the human body as those little quirks were the foundation of everything that made Arthur who he was. He envied how quickly he could turn from a charming Englishman straight out of a Victorian-era novel to a foul-mouthed awkward socialist who practiced black magic in his basement at the drop of a hat. He envied how he wasn't afraid of taking life into his own hands or thinking outside the box, how he had confidence in his abilities and loved to put his skills to the test.

He wanted to be like Arthur. He wanted to have those little quirks somehow rub off on him, somehow, someway.

Which is why, when he heard those motives, heard his plan, and heard Arthur's offer to help him achieve his goals, Kiku jumped at the opportunity. To watch the events unfold and to help change himself into a different person than he was now. Someone who had more of a backbone and craved the rush of adrenaline, someone not afraid of taking risks.

 _ **In a way, I'm still not strong enough,**_  he thought to himself as he listened to Arthur talk about a possible customer who went by the alias 'Russia' who was offering large quantities of money that could help him in his plans.  _ **In the end, Arthur is the one out in the field and taking all the risks while I sit here in our dorm and help him from afar.**_

His fists clenched at his sides at the thought, biting his lip as he contemplated his past actions.  _ **While I remain a coward. As long as I do that, I'll never become stronger like Arthur.**_

"-Kiku?" A voice interrupted his train of thought. That same voice that asked him if he'd like to join him on his mission to claim Alfred's heart while sending America and the NYPD in ruin at one point in the past. "Are you listening to me?"

The brunette nodded, feeling an unusual wave of embarrassment flood his angular features at the idea of being caught. "Hai, Arthur-san. I think we should accept Russia-san's offer, and exchange the Ganymede artifacts for the money as it will undoubtedly aid you in your goals."

The Briton nodded as well, closing his laptop and resting against his back. He sighed. "Now with my face posted over the internet, it'll be difficult to masquerade as England since I could be recognized," he vented, running a hand through his blond locks in a futile attempt to distract himself.

"I beg to differ, Arthur-san," the Eastern male chuckled, catching his Western roommate by surprise. "I doubt anyone will recognize you with your eyebrows being covered up by your mask." He joked, unable to help the small smirk that rose on his face when seeing the Englishman bristle like a cat that got stepped on its tail.

 _ **Though I have undergone several steps to ensure I do become stronger,**_  he thought as he dodged a pillow thrown by an angered Brit, before running and locking the door of his room to hide until Arthur's anger wore down.  _ **A risky process, but one I hope will be worthwhile in the long-run.**_

Thankfully, it wasn't long before the sounds of Arthur's protests decreased in volume and stopped altogether. Kiku opened the door to his bedroom and caught sight of his English roommate asleep in the pile of pillows the blond would have probably used to fire at the brunette had he not retreated elsewhere. His breathing was deep and slow, his face was relaxed for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

"The Metropolitan Museum incident on its own shook up his nerves and made him more paranoid, in spite of how well he tried to hide it," he muttered beneath his breath, draping a blanket onto Arthur to prevent him from catching a cold. "Combined with the stress of today, it was inevitable that he'd collapse like this."

He went back inside his room after turning off the lights in the dorm and tending to his nightly health ritual. Kiku leaned against the door once he finished and flipped open the pocket watch communicator he used when masquerading as 'Japan', admiring how the moonlight streaming through his windows glistened off the silver metal of the watch.

 _ **It's too late to turn back now.**_ He thought, closing the communicator with a small 'click' and putting it back in his pocket.  _ **I have no choice but to move forward. All the tasks at hand have already been cleared.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Yes, I made Toris/Lithuania a writer for the New York Times while Feliks/Poland is a tabloid columnist; they first met in high school Newspaper class and still meet up every Saturday morning at Starbucks. Also, I'm debating whether or not I should make a Tumblr page for Kiku to post his shenanigans relating to this story--leave a comment if you agree or disagree, and if you do think it'd be neat, go ahead and tell me some ideas you have since I'd be happy to listen.
> 
> Regardless, that's chapter 7 and I'll try to update soon. Until then? Stay awesome.


	8. A Day in Central Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur gets the D. Vitamin D.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular font indicates the present.
> 
> Italic font indicates flashbacking.
> 
> Bold italic font indicates thought.
> 
> Bold regular font indicates writing/typing.

It had been two days since the Metropolitan Museum press conference had taken place at the NYU School of Law, since America revealed that he had been kissed by a man after saving his cat, and since Arthur Kirkland had last left his dorm and went outside.

 _ **I should have anticipated this happening,**_  the blond thought bitterly as he peeked through the blinds of his window, cringing and moving away from the window when his suspicions were confirmed.  _ **I only wish I could go back and slap my past self in the face.**_

A soft sigh escaped from his mouth at the thought of what he had done to resign himself to a fate like this, as he pulled out his phone and searched up ' **America Fiasco** ' on Google and clicking on the first few websites. He cringed a second time when his emerald gaze registered the pixilated image of him and America kissing within his mind, closing the tab on his phone and setting it face down on his desk.

It had been two days since the America Fiasco-the name the media dubbed the situation in which New York's beloved superhero, America, was kissed by a male stranger-had taken place at the Metropolitan Museum press conference and had pictures of it leaked all over the internet.

The press had a field day, as all journalists and news reporters would with such an event as that. Was America gay? If so, was he in a relationship with the man who kissed him? Why did the man go as far as kissing America all over a cat stuck in a tree? Who snapped the picture of the two kissing? And who was the man who kissed the superhero in the first place?

As America didn't release any information relating to the man's identity or his relationship with the man, a competition of sorts arose between all those, be they reporters or regular people, who were interested in finding out the truth behind the America Fiasco:

Whoever finds the mystery man first, wins.

Arthur groaned as he sat down in his swirling chair, resting his arms on his desk before resting his head on his arms, grimacing when feeling a headache coming on.

"Whoever finds the mystery man wins the game," he mumbled beneath his breath, blowing some strands of sandy-blond hair out of his eyes. "Even though my face was obscured for the most part, people are persistent to find the man responsible for kissing America. While it's a slim chance, to find the mystery man means to find a possible link between America and who's behind the mask. The best-case scenario would be finding the mystery man and getting him to release more of America's personal information or legitimate identity."

 _ **As America has created quite a reputation for himself in the years he's been an ally to the police and an enemy to criminals, there are people out there who would pay quite nicely for knowledge of his name or where he lives,**_  he thought as he sat up in his seat and stared at the ceiling, his headache diminishing for the time being. A smirk etched itself onto his features.  _ **I can't deny how helpful it'd be to know that kind of information. To know who he is or where he lives would undoubtedly be a valuable asset to my plans, no matter how big or small the knowledge may be. Precaution is a virtue to abide by, after all.**_

"Regardless, that's the best-case scenario," he resumed with a shrug of his shoulders, eyeing the way the sunlight streamed through the small gaps of his window blinds with envy. "Just finding the mystery man would cause the sales of newspapers and magazines to go up. And, as the police want to keep the unwanted attention of the press off them for as long as they can, they wouldn't hesitate to contact the mystery man and convince them to publicly debut as America's 'boyfriend', to give the media more crap to publish that isn't about the police."

A low growl escaped from his throat at the thought. He had expected the police to make a move that would get the attention off them, but throwing America under the bus to cover up their own tracks? That was just despicable.

"'We stopped checking for the monsters under our beds when we realized they were inside us', I believe someone once said," Arthur remarked, peeking through the blinds and grimacing when seeing reporters lurking around the grounds of Washington State Park. They assumed that since the kiss had taken place there, the mystery man would hopefully be located in that surrounding area. A logical assumption, but they failed to realize how close they really were to the object of their interests. "And whoever said that is right. This is a scary world we live in, nowadays."

 _ **Websites like Ayuramih existing to satisfy malicious intentions under guises and greed,**_  he started within his mind, his fingers tapping against his desk like a musician would to a piano, his brow furrowing with each second he dwelled on the topic at hand.  _ **Groups like the NYPD led by corporate bigwigs and corrupted moneylenders-**_

His fists clenched until his knuckles turned white and his fingernails threatened to pierce through the skin of his palms, his gaze harder than steel at the thought.  _ **People like America blindly following their orders without question or hesitation, discarding their own conscience for the sake of doing what is deemed 'justice' by their debauched superiors. Treated like pawns to play in a chess game, cast aside like garbage when they're no longer needed, used and abused for a situation they had no part in.**_

The very thought made him sick to his stomach.

Arthur shook his head in an attempt to lead his mindset elsewhere, resting his hand on his cheek as he opened the blinds a miniscule amount. "Though with 'Japan' as my shield and 'England' as my sword, I can finally accomplish one of my goals at hand," he murmured absentmindedly, missing the sound of footsteps coming near his door. His features softened after a moment, his eyes crinkling in happiness as a genuine smile worked its way onto his cheekbones. "Then, and only then, can Alfred and I-"

He promptly jumped in his seat when the door to his dorm opened, stifling a shriek by clamping a hand over his mouth lest his neighbors overhear.

A sigh of relief exhaled through his nose as he removed his hand and ran it through his tousled blond locks out of exasperation. "Alfred, you need to stop scaring me like that," he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he kept his gaze locked onto the bespectacled blond (who was blushing for unbeknownst reasoning at the moment). "Seriously, I thought you were-"

"-The press?" Alfred finished, noting how the Brit turned a shade paler than he was previously. The American closed the door behind him, his skin a light shade of pink. He looked away when the smaller blond sitting in the chair nodded. "Yeah, I figured as much, what with you not being outside and, um…I, uh, saw the picture." He admitted with a full-on blush, his hands in his pockets as he looked anywhere but at the Briton across from him.

"Are you disgusted?" Arthur asked, feeling his heart painfully twitch and his hands grip the sides of his chair tighter at the idea. "Of me going off and doing that, that is-"

"No," Alfred cut off, catching Arthur off-guard. "I'm not disgusted. Just surprised."

To that statement, the American met the Englishman's gaze with a teasing wink. "Didn't think you went for the hero type, Artie~"

 _ **Alfred F. Jones activated Boy-Next-Door Charm in attack mode. It is super effective,**_  Arthur thought sarcastically, hating how badly his face was heating up. He coughed in an attempt to redeem himself. "I-I'm not," he spoke, feeling the strong urge to beat up some pillows at the thought of kissing his American nemesis a second time. "I-it was just…spur of the moment, that's all."

He couldn't help but be curious in regards to why the bespectacled blond appeared downcast for a split-second, only for another smile to overtake his features. "Still, I didn't think you had a wild side," he laughed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought it went against your gentlemanly-principles."

Another blush from the Briton. Dammit.

"A-anyway, what are you doing here? I thought it'd be impossible to get out of these grounds without being swarmed by the press," Arthur acknowledged, causing a light eyebrow to rise against the American's forehead.

"Since my little stunt, they've been looking all over the place for me," he explained, his expression twisting into distaste at the thought of his hasty actions and repercussions for said hasty actions. "I haven't been able to leave my dorm for two days because of it."

 _ **Not to mention its severely limited my amount of criminal activity,**_  he admitted within his mind, looking out the blinds again.  _ **It'd be suicide to try something when my actions could be caught by the media. At least with Kiku, I can control what activities of mine are filtered onto the internet.**_

His frown grew deeper as he closed the blinds.  _ **It turns out the America Fiasco picture was initially posted onto the same site Kiku used to upload the Metropolitan images. I asked him if he was responsible for the Fiasco photo considering he was there at the time, but he denied having uploaded the photo or having seen anyone suspicious.**_

_**Wait. Now that I think about it, where** _ _**is** _ _**Kiku?** _

"-hange that now, don't you think?" Alfred's voice interrupted his thoughts, resulting in the Brit blinking and asking him to repeat himself. "I said we should change that now, don't you think?"

"Huh?" Arthur said, standing up from his chair. He proceeded to blush like a Mediterranean tomato and sputter a whirlwind of English profanities when the American scooped him up and hauled him over his shoulder like he weighed less than a sack of flour.

"It's time for you to re-join the living," Alfred grinned, keeping a tight grip on the Briton as he began squirming and pounding rapidly at his back in an attempt to be released. "Don't worry, my dorm is in this same complex, and you can borrow some of my clothes since people will recognize you in your old-man clothes."

"Dammit, Alfred! My clothing-choices are just fine, you twat!"

"Says the man with a bow-tie collection-"

"BOW-TIES ARE COOL!"

~ na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na~

"So, what was the purpose of getting me out of my dorm anyway?" Arthur wondered out loud towards Alfred, readjusting the hood of Alfred's dark green hoodie out of paranoia it would fall off in the midst of their exploration of Times Square. He tried his best to keep up with the tall American, as the city streets were crowded and bustling with urban life. "Not only that, but dressing me up in your clothes and sneaking off the campus!"

"I already told you," Alfred expressed, his hands in his pockets as he waded through the crowd with the shorter blond in tow, his blue eyes barely discernable behind the sunlight-induced glare of his glasses. He appeared to be looking for something, though it was unclear to the Briton trailing behind him what it was exactly. "You needed to re-join the living and get out of that place before you went nuts. It's unhealthy to stay cooped up in there for so long, even if it'd risk the press finding you."

Arthur rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses (which Alfred shoved onto his face claiming it was big enough to hide his monstrous eyebrows as he claimed that no one could recognize him without his eyebrows), biting his lip in embarrassment as he now had to jog to keep up with the long strides of the bespectacled blond. "You contradicted yourself just now," he informed, quirking an intrigued look from his friend. "You claimed it'd be healthier to risk the press finding me than hiding in my room. Have you seen the things the press are capable of?"

"Like for instance…?" Alfred left off, slowing his pace so that the Englishman could catch up, readjusting Arthur's hood as it was threatening to slip off his head.

"Like the Metropolitan Museum fuss that's been overshadowed since the America Fiasco," Arthur panted, his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath, missing the panicked expression that daunted the American's features at the mention of it. "They bombarded both the NYPD and America without mercy, surely something like that's unhealthier than simply staying hidden?"

"What do you mean by that?" Alfred questioned, averting the Brit's emerald gaze out of fear he'd be unable to look away, nervousness eating at his senses.

Arthur stood straight, pushing his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose to prevent them from slipping. "I'm just saying how the press and media aren't to be taken lightly, particularly by people they've deemed worthy of their headlines." He shrugged, resuming his walk beside the American. "The NYPD fail to realize how big of an opponent the public is, especially taking things like the internet into consideration. How quickly people can switch sides and turn against those they supported, and how they can easily paint certain people out to be whatever they want."

"Like people painting the NYPD as a villain, America as a voiceless puppet, and England as a hero?"

That statement caused Arthur to stop in his tracks, his eyes widening behind his dark glasses when registering what the bespectacled blond said. He shook off his shock as quickly as it came, as to not provoke suspicion around Alfred. "Precisely. With tools like T.V and the internet at their disposal, there's no limit to the power of the people. The only question resides in what they plan to fight for."

Alfred couldn't help but smirk, internally laughing at the thought of someone like England actually having something to fight for.

 _ **Criminals are only in it for the money, recognition, and the thrill,**_  he thought, dark amusement close to revealing itself amongst his deep pools of sapphire, his hands clenching to fists in the pockets of his jacket.  _ **England is no different. I doubt he could ever have motives worth his freedom or his life.**_

"Well?" A British voice interrupted his train of thought, as Alfred blinked and requested him to repeat himself. "I asked if you would have any reason to fight if you were somehow caught up in all this chaos."

To that, Alfred snickered. "I'd never let myself get involved in that kind of mess," he lied, wondering if the sickening sensation in his stomach was caused by guilt or another feeling. "Situations like those will definitely ruin your health, staying cooped up in your house or not. You?"

"Same," Arthur agreed, his green eyes half-lidded behind his glasses. "Though I wouldn't concern myself with those matters if I didn't feel like I had to."

_**If he didn't feel like he had to…?** _

Before the American could ask further, a familiar sight caused him to grab the Brit's hand and dash towards their destination. "Come on, Artie!" He exclaimed, blaming the fact that he was running to conceal the fact that he was blushing. "You're going to love it here!"

Arthur managed to glance at the surrounding areas, realization dawning upon his features. "Central Park?" He gasped, caught in a mixture of relief and disappointment(?) when Alfred relinquished his grip on his hand. He flexed his fingers, wishing the boy didn't have as much physical strength to rival America, as he continued to look around. "What are we doing here?"

Alfred grinned, and the world seemed to dull in comparison for a mere instant. "The press will never find you here," he pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest as it was his turn to look around. "Plus, you've never visited this place before, right?"

The American 'tsk'ed and shook his head when the Englishman next to him nodded. "I find it hard to believe that you've lived in New York since you were five, yet you've never been to Central Park," he recounted, ignoring how badly his friend proceeded to roll his eyes. "Therefore, I shall remedy that misfortune of yours by showing you around, today!"

The Brit stared at him, entirely at a loss of words to say. A moment of silence passed between the two blonds, broken only when Arthur started to laugh.

"No need to be so melodramatic," he managed to say, covering the lower half of his face in a futile attempt to conceal his smile, looking everywhere but at the bespectacled man beside him. "Alright, Mr. Tour Guide," Arthur agreed, his response a tad muffled. "Do as you see fit."

A wide smile broke out amongst Alfred's features, letting out an excited "Got it!" before grabbing Arthur's other hand that lay limp at his side and tugging him forward. "It'll be loads of fun, trust me!"

Another nod escaped the Englishman as he followed. "Don't worry. I trust you."

Again, Alfred wondered if the sickening sensation in his stomach was caused by guilt or another feeling.

~ na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na~

"How many places have we visited so far?" Arthur inquired, holding up the map of Central Park at different angles to see the sites crossed out in red, indicating that they saw them already. "I could have sworn we've been walking in circles for a while now."

Alfred glanced at the map, scratching his head and laughing a nervous laugh. "Yeah, I may have…gotten us lost," he concluded, holding his hands up in the air in a sign of surrender. "I honestly had no intention of doing that! The last time I came here was with Mattie before he left for Germany."

The Brit raised a thick eyebrow as if to say 'really?' in regards to his statement, a disbelieving smirk playing at his pale features as he sat down on one of the park's numerous benches.

"Regardless of whether you intended this to happen or not, we should still try finding out where we are," he addressed, folding the map up and looking towards the trees serving as a canopy over the bench, admiring the way the sunlight shone through the green of the leaves and cascading shadows all over the place. "Otherwise, who knows how long we'll be here?"

To that, the American sat down and laid his head down in the Briton's lap, ignoring the colorful responses that emitted from the latter. He feigned innocence, keeping his eyes trained on the emerald eyes hidden behind sunglasses, an impish expression residing amongst his face.

"Until death do we part, my dear~!" He declared with an exaggerated flop of his arms (nearly whapping Arthur's head on the process, if not for his quick reflexes). "Until then, we are doomed to wander our own Garden of Eden~"

Arthur blamed the summer weather for his heated cheeks. "Oh, shut it, Jones."

"You know you love it-"

"-You know I don't-"

"-You know you love me-"

"-You know you're delusional-"

"-Crazy people don't know they're crazy, and since I know I'm crazy I'm not crazy, isn't that crazy?"

Alfred blamed the summer weather for his the heating of his cheeks when Arthur laughed, sitting up from where his head previously rested and resituating himself beside the blond.

"To be honest, there was a particular place I had in mind," Alfred confessed, quirking a confused look from the shorter male. "A place I thought you'd like the most, even after we visited sites like the Carousel or Conservatory Garden."

The Brit put his hand on his chin in a thinking pose. "I don't know," he conceded, his tone heavily laced with sarcasm. "I'd be perfectly satisfied with simply basking in your presence."

"Why the sarcasm?" Alfred chimed in in a joking mannerism. "We both know it's true. Anyway, it was this bridge that's been in tons of movies and has a really nice view and whatnot-"

"Like that one?"

And then, after following the Briton's finger pointing in front of the benches they occupied, the American noticed the large bridge not too far from where they were sitting, clear as day in the rays of dusk.

The American proceeded to facepalm at his remarkable eyesight, wondering if it was too late to change his superhero alias from 'America' to 'Captain Oblivious'.

"Yes, that one," he uttered as his pride took collateral damage, standing up and walking beside the British blond. "Good to know my skills of perception are still kick-ass."

His spirits lightened up a bit when hearing Arthur laugh. Three times in one day, he was on a roll.

 _ **While it's not unheard of him smiling, he doesn't smile as much as he used to when we were younger,**_  Alfred thought with a hand on his cheek, leaning on the rail of the Bow Bridge as he stared out into the sunset with Arthur.  _ **Before, he never went a day without smiling, but during the summer when we were fifteen, he just…stopped.**_

He didn't realize he was frowning until he felt his facial muscles contort uncomfortably, given it was unusual for him to frown.  _ **He became more introverted and quiet, hiding out in his room until I'd have to force him out like I did today. It seemed as though his inner spark diminished significantly, burning like a candle does before being blown out. He wasn't necessarily gone, simply not as bright, not as happy.**_

He didn't realize his fists had clenched on the railway until he felt a gentle squeeze from someone's hand, his bespectacled sapphire eyes encountering seemingly-endless pools of emerald staring at him. Arthur's eyes were no longer hidden behind sunglasses, instead uncovered and reflecting the red and orange of the setting sun, wide with worry and uncertainty.

 _ **Now that I think of it, that was around the time my parents died, right?**_  The tall blond remembered, wondering if Arthur's touch was always so comforting, if it was possible to drown in the deepness of someone's expressions, and if it was natural for his heart to race so fast in his chest.  _ **But that doesn't make sense, he barely knew my parents. Why would he change so suddenly during that time?**_

" _While I don't know how they died, I know how it feels for people to suddenly leave. I know it hurts you, leaves a scar on your heart, and makes you think it was your fault they left-"_

 _ **Did he lose someone precious to him?**_  Alfred contemplated, brushing some strands of messy blond hair out of Arthur's face, curious as to how/when the distance between them decreased so much.  _ **If so, did they hurt him? Leave a scar on his heart? Made him think it was his fault?**_

He didn't realize he had cupped the Briton's cheek until he felt his fingertips skim the boy's cheek. Until he felt Arthur lean into his palm and relax.  _ **Even so, I don't want him to experience that pain again. I don't want him to suffer, grieve, or despair. I don't want him to concern himself with matters of the NYPD or England because he feels like he has to.**_

"Alfred?" He heard the shorter male say, causing the American's breath to hitch in his throat. The Brit's gaze was half-lidded, his cheeks awash in crimson like the sun kissing the horizon of the sky, his lips parted as unknown words struggled to slip off his tongue.

"Arthur." He heard himself say, surprised at how six letters could affect him so badly.

At this point, all Alfred knew was warmth. The warmth of the diminishing sun, the warmth of Arthur's cheeks, the warmth of his own heart beating wildly within his chest cavity. He couldn't speak, he couldn't phrase anything into words, and the only thing he could think was one sentence:

_**More than anything, I want him to be happy because I-** _

"-nd they say that a HERO COULD SAVE US, I'M NOT GONNA STAND HERE AND WAIIIIIITTTTTTT," a loud voice interrupted, causing Arthur to jump and Alfred to hit his back against the ledge of the Bow Bridge. "I'LL HOLD ONTO THE WINGS OF THE EAGLES, AND WATCH AS WE ALL FLY AWAYYYYYYYY!"

Alfred internally cursed at the sound of his ringtone ('Hero' by Nickelback), his face blushing so vibrantly it was a miracle he had enough blood to pass through the rest of his system. "Sorry about that," he apologized, rubbing his back with a grimace on his face considering it hurt when his spine collided with the metal of the bridge.

Whatever physical pain seemed to vanish as soon as he realized the phone currently ringing in his hand was the phone reserved for his duties as 'America', and that the caller I.D was one of Department Chief Vash Zwingli's many aliases.

_**The NYPD? Why would they be calling me now, when it's clear the Metropolitan Museum incident's been overlooked by the public?** _

"Do you mind?" Alfred implored towards Arthur, who nodded with a sheepish expression residing amongst his pink features. "Thanks."

Without another moment to lose, the bespectacled blond accepted the call and held it closely to his ear to prevent the Brit from somehow overhearing. "What is it?"

"America," Vash began, his already-irritated tone of voice making the American all the more curious to know what happened. "There's been a situation, one that requires you to come down to headquarters right away."

"What happened?" Alfred interrogated, glancing at the Englishman checking his phone. Arthur appeared to look surprised at whatever he was reading, but he didn't seem to be paying attention to what Alfred was saying. Just to be sure, Alfred lowered his voice. "Last I checked, you guys were in the clear after my little stunt at Washington Park."

A migraine-induced groan sounded from Vash's end, quirking a concerned appearance from Alfred. "Everyone here at the NYPD thought the same."

After a minute of listening, Alfred hung up his phone and put it back in his pocket, stealing another glance at the British boy across from him who was still reading his phone. "Sorry about that again," he continued embarrassedly, making the male look up from his phone and blink as if to register what was going on. "A personal call I had to take. Do you think you can make it back to NYU by yourself without being caught by the press?"

Arthur nodded again, resulting in an abrupt goodbye and an even more abrupt leave from the American.

 _ **Dammit,**_ Alfred thought as he continued to run, relieved that he had enough hindsight to wear his superhero attire beneath his clothes in case something like this happened.  _ **Why did England have to strike**_ _ **again**_ _ **at a time like this?!**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Yeah, ringtones are the bane of my characters' existences considering they tend to interrupt certain moments. What can I say? I'm known as 'The Writing Sadist'. So that’s where this chapter’s going to end, though explanations will be given in the next chapter--I'll try to update soon. Until then? Stay awesome.


	9. Take Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which another heist is afoot and an epiphany is realized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular font indicates the present.
> 
> Italic font indicates flashbacking.
> 
> Bold italic font indicates thought.
> 
> Bold regular font indicates writing/typing.

As soon as Alfred was out of sight, Arthur ran.

He ran out of Central Park until his legs had become numb with the strain of his muscles, until his breath came in shallow pants, and until his lungs burned with each heave that felt an instant heavier than the last. He didn't care about how strange he must have looked to those still wandering in the park, as long as he got out of the location as quickly as possible.

He was physically drained by the time he reached Times Square, yet he continued forward regardless of how badly he wanted to collapse on the ground from exhaustion. The Briton was forced to walk when he merged into crowds of civilians, keeping a tight grip on the hood obscuring his face to prevent it from slipping.

 _ **If what the message I received is true,**_  he thought semi-coherently as he slipped and side-stepped across and between people, apologizing all the while as he gradually increased his speed.  _ **Then there's no time to waste. I have to hurry.**_

A sigh of relief escaped his pale lips when he finally escaped from the urban horde, resuming his run when he caught sight of the NYU dormitories. The events after that went by in a blur, as he ran up the stairs and located the dorm he shared with Kiku.

Arthur opened the door and closed it with his back, resting against it as he gulped in air and tried to steady his heart rate. After a moment, he removed his back from the door, walked across the room, and sat down in his rolling chair facing the windows, grimacing at how akin to jelly his legs felt. The blond looked up when hearing footsteps, his dark green gaze encountering dark brown ones hidden behind a Kitsune mask.

"I take it you received my text message, Arthur-san?" 'Japan' asked the Englishman, who nodded and removed his phone from the pocket of his hoodie. Arthur pulled up the text and showed it to the Japanese male.

"'Initiating backup plan. Return to dorm ASAP'," Arthur repeated, storing the phone into his pocket and grabbing his England attire (which he kept under lock and key, especially after Alfred's cat from Hell), retreating into the restroom and proceeding to remove his clothes so that he could take a shower. "I was surprised when you sent me that message, I'll admit. Though I came as fast as I could."

"Where were you, anyway?" Kiku spoke through the door, inspecting his pocket watch communicator to check for any malfunctions. "When I came back, you had left. I thought your moves were limited given the events from two days ago."

A groan resounded from the bathroom, muffled by the sound of running water. "Don't remind me about that," the Brit said as he stepped into the shower, the warm water easing his tense muscles. "I'm going to pretend that it never happened. I was out with Alfred."

"With Alfred-san? If it was a date, I'm sorry I interrupted it with my message," the Japanese grinned, anticipating that the blond was blushing vibrantly given his statement. "I would have delayed it a bit longer had you told me."

"I-it wasn't a d-date," Arthur stuttered, relieved his roommate couldn't see the crimson state of his face as he would mercilessly tease him. "The bloke dragged me out of here, insisting I 're-join the living', as he put it. We went to Central Park considering I've never been there before."

The Brit heard a gasp from behind the door. "You've never been to Central Park? How is it that you've lived in New York since you were five but you've never been to Central Park?"

"That's what he told me," Arthur replied, running a hand through his drenched blond (temporarily light brown) locks in an exasperated motion. "Nothing happened, I swear."

"You swear nothing happened? I find that a little hard to believe, Arthur-san," Kiku mused, provoking the Briton's blush to somehow deepen. "I figured that you would try any avenue to make Alfred-san yours, with or without 'England' to help you."

"I'm not that desperate," he addressed, turning off the water and grabbing a towel to dry himself. He wrapped the fabric around his waist, unable to stop himself from thinking about the situation that occurred at the Bow Bridge. His brow furrowed.

 _ **He had such a pained look in his eyes,**_  the Englishman remembered, drying his hair with a hand towel. He slipped on his short-sleeve white undershirt and fastened a black tie around his neck, pulling his usual long-sleeve green shirt after that.  _ **Like he thought of something truly saddening. And seeing that look…it gave me an epiphany.**_

"So, phase one has already been completed?" Arthur called out when he finished changing, buttoning up his tailcoat and putting his England mask in his pocket to affix on his face later, opening the door shortly thereafter.

Kiku nodded, his Kitsune mask still concealing his facial features. "Phase one has already been initiated," he announced as removed his laptop, pulling up the program that allowed him to view security camera footage. "In regards to your earlier question of where I was, I was scoping out the surveillance system of the Metropolitan Museum," he explained, quirking an intrigued look from the Brit.

"I would think that the Metropolitan Museum hasn't upgraded its security or removed that chip installed last time, as they've been too pre-occupied with attention from the media to improve their faults," the blond mentioned, crossing his arms over his chest. "What did you find out?"

"Your assumptions were correct, Arthur-san," Kiku assured, showing the Briton a current view of the Metropolitan Museum from the infiltrated cameras. "I also provided another glass cylinder to use on the night-guards." He informed, pointing to a bag resting on the couch that could be confused for containing a high-quality camera as opposed to a small glass container. "Nitrous oxide. Enough to make the guards dizzy and pass out."

The Englishman smiled smugly, recalling how the police had sent the first broken cylinder into a lab for further analysis. "So everything will go along in accordance to last time," he approved, pulling on a long black coat to cover up his England outfit. "Without America's commercialized ass messing things up. Did you send the message to the NYPD around the same time you sent me that text message?"

"Hai, Arthur-san," he answered, pulling up a different program on his laptop and clicking on the recent file. A white backdrop with a black 'E' in the center was the only thing visible on the screen, similar to the image America's sidekick, 'O', had used to cut off their video feed last time. However, unlike 'O', it included a recorded message.

After listening to the audio, Arthur nodded with esteem towards the brunette. "Excellent as always. America and the NYPD will be so focused on decoding the message that, by the time they figure it out, it'll be too late."

Kiku pulled up a charger and connected it to his laptop, his dark brown gaze focused on the cameras. "The Metropolitan Museum incident occurred with the intent of bringing down America and the police's reputation," he reminded the British male, who automatically frowned at the thought.

"But, they were able to push that incident under the rug thanks to the America Fiasco. Because they distracted the public and media to cover up their mistakes, they didn't suffer nearly as much as they should have," Arthur mumbled bitterly, his eye twitching when remembering the situation. "So, what'll happen tonight is a backup plan to remind everyone of America and the NYPD's inability to catch criminals."

Another cocky smirk graced his features. "In a way, this plan will be much more effective than the original plan was, as New York's police and New York's famous superhero will be thwarted twice by the same criminal in the exact same scenario, without anything to show for it except for scars and wounded pride."

"Then it won't be longer before your first goal is completed, giving your second goal more focus," Kiku implied, inwardly snickering at how the Englishman turned redder than a Mediterranean tomato. "Again, are you sure that nothing happened on your outing with Alfred-san~?"

"Not necessarily," Arthur voiced as he looked away, embarrassment prevalent against his fair features. "Though I did have an epiphany relating to him."

A dark eyebrow rose against the Asian's features, prodding the blond to continue.

"I no longer want to make Alfred mine." Arthur stated firmly, curious in regards to what Kiku's expression would be if he could see him. The only physical evidence of how he felt reflected in the lowered state of his head.

"Why has your motive suddenly changed?" 'Japan' questioned behind the face of a Japanese fox, his hands in the pockets of his tuxedo pants.

It wasn't long before 'England' sighed. "I love him," he admitted, his gloved hands clenched at his sides. "But it's because I love him that I don't want to make him mine. At this point-"

He stopped, whatever trace of paleness he previously possessed replaced by pink. "At this point, I just want him to be happy," Arthur murmured, his blond bangs obscuring his half-lidded eyes, his hands clenching further until he feared his palms would bleed. "I have no guarantee Alfred is in love with me, or that he'd even swing my way. That being said, I don't want to force him into loving me."

_**I don't want him to look like that again. To experience that pain again. I don't want him to suffer, grieve, or despair.** _

"You'll be content even if he ends up with someone else?" Kiku wondered out loud, jolting the Brit out of his thoughts as if he was electrocuted. The Japanese male had removed his mask, allowing his roommate a glance at his expression. He appeared saddened, along with something else unable to be translated.

Swallowing thickly, Arthur nodded. "Yes. I don't want to force him into loving me if his heart resides elsewhere. That wouldn't be fair to him at all, and if I disregard his opinions and future for my own personal gain, I'd be just as bad as the NYPD."

_**I've been selfish in one of my motives, my motive to make Alfred mine. I haven't considered whether he would want to love me or not, I've just been acting on my own accord without taking his feelings into account.** _

_**While he tried to kiss me, I don't know if he did that out of love or desperation. If his thoughts were so chaotic and miserable he wanted to escape by** _ _**any** _ _**means necessary. Though I was saddened when his phone went off, I was kind of glad because I didn't want him to kiss me only to regret it later on, destroying our friendship permanently.** _

… _ **To be honest, he probably considers me a friend and nothing more.**_

"However, it's not as if I'll stop being 'England'," Arthur acknowledged with a shrug of his shoulders in an attempt to lighten the mood, a determined smirk playing against his cheekbones. "I'll fight to bring down the NYPD and America, to make the world a place where Alfred can find happiness."

Kiku appeared hesitant, but nodded once more at the Brit's statement. "Hai, Arthur-san."

After going over the plan one last time, Arthur left the dorm with the cylinder bag and his bag reserved for theft in tow.

 _ **I've gotten this far, it's too late to turn back,**_  he thought as he slipped and side-stepped across and between people, apologizing all the while. Naturally, it wasn't long before he stood at the back entrance of the Metropolitan Museum, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu envelop his senses.

" _You're just jelly 'cuz my English is gooder than yours~"_

" _If I ask, will you tutor me? Kirkland-sempai?"_

" _When my parents died while we were in high school, I had no one around to help me. Mattie was in Germany for a study-abroad program, so I was by myself until you and your mom stepped in to give me support."_

" _Didn't think you went for the hero type, Artie~"_

" _It's time for you to re-join the living. Don't worry, my dorm is in this same complex, and you can borrow some of my clothes since people will recognize you in your old-man clothes."_

" _Like people painting the NYPD as a villain, America as a voiceless puppet, and England as a hero?"_

" _I'd never let myself get involved in that kind of mess."_

" _Crazy people don't know they're crazy, and since I know I'm crazy I'm not crazy, isn't that crazy?"_

" _Arthur."_

" _I'm sorry, I'm sorry for this, but please don't leave me. Please."_

Even so, Arthur couldn't help but laugh a little, barely managing to smother his laughter with his hand over his mouth.

_**The only path left to me is straight ahead.** _

~ na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na~

When Alfred arrived at the headquarters for the New York Police Department, the last thing he expected was to be escorted to a dark room full of computers and situated in front of a laptop.

"W-what's this about?" he questioned, unable to stop his nerves from deteriorating. He ran all the way to the NYPD headquarters from a possible-date-thingy with Arthur after being told that England had struck, so why wasn't he out there looking for him?

 _ **Did he get captured and they want me to interrogate him via-webcam?**_  He hypothesized, biting his lip as he readjusted his white mask with blue stars out of paranoia it would fall off, the bright light of the monitor making him squint as he wasn't wearing his glasses.  _ **Does 'O' want to contact me all of a sudden? Seriously, what's going on here?!**_

All his questions vanished as soon as a strange image popped up on the screen. A strange image featuring a white backdrop with a single black letter in the middle:

' **E** '.

 _ **England,**_  he growled internally, his gloved hands turning to gloved fists at his sides, his eyes twitching at the thought.  _ **How dare you impersonate 'O'? England's helper that Oya theorized about must have told him about the security camera infiltration, so he used this to get my attention. If that's the case, did England's helper tell him of 'O' and I's plan?**_

He couldn't help but gasp when he heard a recorded message escape from the laptop.

"Greetings to both the NYPD and New York's famous 'superhero', America," the message began, the speaker's voice indiscernible thanks to vocal modification software. "This is England."

From there, Chief Zwingli paused the audio. "We received this message shortly before calling you," he disclosed, rubbing his temples to stave off headaches (most likely caused by computer screens in dimly-lit rooms). "The source was unknown, but, based on the content, it's from England."

"Did you guys check your computers for viruses or infiltrations of any kind?" Alfred interrogated, leaning away from the screen and crossing his arms over his chest.

Vash shook his head. "We've checked all our technological systems that could be potentially hacked, yet we've been unable to uncover which system was violated by an outside source," he revealed, catching the American by surprise. "As a precaution, we've changed our legitimate I.P addresses, created multiple fake I.P addresses, and changed all our system codes to prevent it from happening again."

 _ **So they haven't yet determined from which system was the source,**_  the bespectacled blond thought, his blue eyes narrowing.  _ **Given the I.P addresses and system codes are limited to myself, 'O', and those in the NYPD, it's logical to assume that the culprit is someone in that group. I'm eliminated as a suspect of course, since it's against my morals and I'm not at things like hacking and whatnot. 'O' is eliminated as a suspect since he's trustworthy, made it clear he's on my side, and would have nothing to gain from betraying me. Vash is eliminated since he's well…Vash. So has to be someone else working as a mole and providing information. Either that, or England's helper is England's equivalent of 'O'. Now**_ _ **that's**_ _ **a scary thought.**_

"-erica? America!" Vash shouted, making Alfred jump and nearly topple over in his seat. "I asked if you wanted to continue with the audio."

"Oh? Right, sorry," he apologized, scooting closer to the screen. "By the way, I think you should interview some of your co-workers and subordinates, just to make sure none of them are leaking information on purpose."

The Department Chief nodded. "Sounds logical. Quite a stretch for you, I'm sure." He remarked sarcastically, ignoring the superhero's indignant squawk as he pressed play.

"As you've probably figured out, yes, I have infiltrated your system in order to leave this message behind," England continued, his obnoxious British accent still coherent even with the technological manipulation of his voice. "In regards to that, let me just say that New York's finest have poorly placed their faith. Much like how New York's civilians have poorly placed their faith in all of you."

Alfred's fists somehow clenched tighter, until he feared his gloves would rip or his nails would pierce through the skin of his palm, whichever came first _ **. You bastard. You don't know anything about who we are, what we do, or-**_

" _Don't worry. I trust you."_

" _Though I wouldn't concern myself with those matters if I didn't feel like I had to."_

" _While I don't know how they died, I know how it feels for people to suddenly leave. I know it hurts you, leaves a scar on your heart, and makes you think it was your fault they left-"_

… _ **What we fight for,**_  he resumed mentally, his throat drying up as he continued to think, his stomach knotting up with every second he spent listening to England's electronic voice.  _ **You have no idea. You have no reason to fight. You could never understand what motives me.**_

"You, 'America'."

He immediately jolted out of his thoughts when he heard that voice say his name, causing his teeth to grind and his blood to boil.

"You claim to be a hero for justice who handles all criminals without discrimination or personal bias, and yet you work with the NYPD?" England questioned. "You follow their orders without question or hesitation, discarding your own conscience for the sake of doing what is deemed 'justice' by your debauched superiors? Are you stupid enough to follow what they say, or are you just naïve? Are you oblivious to the sins they've committed, or are you just in denial? It's obvious you have a difficult enough time abiding by your own rules. Or is it possible those little morals of yours are just for show? A little self-gratification to satisfy your hero complex?"

Alfred didn't realize he had been gripping the sides of his chair until he heard a small 'crack' emit from the wood, causing him to relinquish his hold and quirking a cautious look from Chief Zwingli.

"Would you like for us to stop the video?" Vash asked, stepping back out of paranoia when the hero shook his head.

"No," 'America' replied, taking another deep breath in another attempt to calm himself. "Let him finish. I assure you I can handle this, sir."

The blond officer nodded, stepping a bit further away as he wasn't entirely convinced.

"What is it you hope to achieve by working with them? If you hope to change things through doing their dirty work, you're only encouraging them to act unethical knowing you'll clean up their mess," the Brit continued, as Alfred rubbed his temples as England was his personification of the worst migraine ever. "They're shallow and pathetic, valuing things like 'reputation' and 'public image' over what is justice and truth. You cannot change them, but they possess potential to be reborn."

The American raised an eyebrow at that statement. What did he mean by that?

"Someone once told me that I should visit more sites of New York," the British thief resumed, oblivious to Alfred's thoughts and confusion relating to his previous statement. "So I shall start at where it began. New York's Police Department is destined for greater chaos."

_**Potential to be reborn? Start at where it began? Destined for greater chaos? Is he insane? What the hell is he talking about?** _

"Wait," Alfred began when the audio ended, as he stood up from where he sat and turned to face Chief Zwingli. "How long has it been since this video was discovered?"

"Almost forty minutes," Vash confirmed after a glance to his watch with a perplexed expression. "Why do you ask?"

Alfred turned pale and practically bolted out the door. "He's going to the museum, again!"

"What?!" the Department Chief exclaimed, following the hero. "What makes you think that?!"

"He's going where it all began, back to the museum where our troubles really started!"

 _ **He can't be sure about this, right? It's bad to strike in the same place twice, no matter how much you rationalize it! Even so, he's pretty confident in his accusation,**_  he thought, sighing a bit as he rubbed his temples again. He decided he would return home to Switzerland, and to his younger sister, Lili, once he put this obnoxious thief behind bars, as he had no idea how much longer he could take this stressful nonsense about heroes and villains.  _ **At least the press can't say we didn't try.**_

The officer grabbed his radio and began directing through the communication device. "Department Chief Vash Zwingli requesting backup from the Special Investigation Division's Major Case Squad," he barked over the radio as he followed America and got in his police car. "Repeat, Department Chief Vash Zwingli requesting backup from the Special Investigation Division's Major Case Squad. There's high chance of a 10-21/10-31 at 1000 5th Avenue! Repeat, high change of a 10-21/10-31 at 1000 5th Avenue!"

' _ **England',**_  Alfred thought as he sat in the police car heading for the Metropolitan Museum, his eyes narrowing behind his mask as he stared out the window. His heart twitched in his chest when he caught sight of Central Park, his gaze lingering on the Bow Bridge he visited earlier with Arthur.  _ **What do I hope to achieve? I'll make a world where Arthur can find happiness. I've gotten this far, it's too late to turn back.**_

Even so, Alfred couldn't help but laugh a little, barely managing to smother his laughter with his hand over his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: For those of you who haven't been keeping up with this story on fanfiction.net (my primary medium for uploading), I'm tremendously-sorry for the delay in updating. For the longest time I've been wanting to update, but my primary issue was trying to copy and paste chapters directly from fanfiction.net (as I tend to do last-minute alterations using the site's word processor as opposed to my original Microsoft Word documents), something that took me an embarrassingly-long time figuring out. But hey, I managed to do it. So expect chapter 10 to be uploaded tomorrow. Also, those codes Switzerland says at the end can either indicate a crime in progress or a burglary, whichever term you prefer. I also don't know how the structure of the police, so I'd appreciate it if someone left a review about that so I could edit this later. Anyway, please favorite/follow at your leisure as I'd like you to continue on this journey with me. Please don't hesitate to leave a review (whether positive or negative, as I appreciate constructive criticism), especially considering I'll try doing this sort of thing from now on.
> 
> Until then? Stay awesome.


	10. This Time, With Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a foreign adversary makes their debut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular font indicates the present.
> 
> Italic font indicates flashbacking.
> 
> Bold italic font indicates thought.
> 
> Bold regular font indicates writing/typing.

It was quiet.

Almost a little too quiet for the likes of a certain Briton.

Since he had arrived in the Metropolitan Museum, Arthur's nerves had been stretched like a bungee cord. His heart was thumping in his chest, every footstep he took sounded as loud as a gunshot, and he was unable to stop his hands from shaking.

 ** _Get ahold of yourself,_**  Arthur thought semi-coherently as he stood beside the security room door, quietly removing the glass cylinder from the bag Kiku gave him.  ** _It's not like this is your first time. Hell, this heist should be easier than the last one._**

He inspected the container for any cracks or blemishes that could have prematurely released the gas, a smirk etching itself onto his cheekbones when it passed his inspections. He placed the cylinder on the ground and nudged it so that it would roll into the room undetected. As soon as someone stepped on the cylinder and cracked the glass, the masked blond closed the door to prevent the amounts of nitrous oxide from escaping into the hallway.

Though a series of sickening 'THUMP's indicated that everyone inside had been rendered dizzy enough to fall unconscious, he slowly opened the door as a form of precaution. Precaution was always a virtue to abide by.

The Briton entered the security room and maneuvered his way over the bodies, setting each guard up on a chair and removing the rope from his bag so he could tie the men up. While he had confirmed their lack of consciousness, they could have been faking it to lower his guard.

Stuffing fabric in the guards' mouths to muffle their speech and quadruple-knotting the material around their limbs definitely took a decent portion of time to do, but in the instance that the men came to, it would take more time for them to undo the knots and remove the fabric than it would for them to simply unlock a door. Arthur may have made a few mistakes in the past (like jumping out of two-story windows or kissing commercialized idiots in broad daylight), but he wasn't stupid.

 _ **So far, the biggest risk I've taken is the message sent to the NYPD,**_  the Englishman continued to think when he finished with the security guards, flipping open his pocket-watch communicator so he could alert Kiku.  ** _As it was a move designed to enrage America._**

_"You want to what?" Kiku said, looking up at Arthur with disbelief written across his expression from where he sat near his desk. He shook his head. "I'm afraid I may have misheard you, Arthur-san. Please repeat yourself."_

_"I need to provoke America," Arthur repeated, his hands in his pockets as he cascaded his emerald gaze across the jewelry his Japanese roommate was working on. "That way he can act as rashly as he always does, but in a way that benefits us."_

_The brunette sighed, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "How would his rash actions benefit us in any way?" He wondered out loud, resting his hand on his cheek. "Isn't one of the main reasons you hate him because of his rash actions?"_

_The Brit's brow furrowed when thinking of the American nuisance, nodding in agreement with his statement. "Yes, but if we purposely provoke him, we can manufacture a scenario that will result in him looking like a fool."_

_"And what kind of scenario could we manufacture?" The Japanese asked, curious to hear what his roommate's plan was. He couldn't stop the surprise from dawning on his features when the blond gestured to the fake Etruscan jewelry currently residing on his desk._

_Considering Arthur had kissed America two hours ago and caused the press to forget the Metropolitan Museum incident in favor of the America fiasco, he had been forced to remain inside their dorm when the pictures went viral. Since then, he proposed that the next item to steal should be none other than the Etruscan jewelry, as it was valuable (dating from fifth-century B.C and made of materials ranging from glass to gold) and the new highlight of the museum's collection. As a form of precaution, Arthur had gone off and began making replicas for the jewelry, which Kiku had already begun tweaking._

_"The answer lies with the replicas," the Briton stated simply, relishing the look of realization that replaced the Asian's previous look of surprise._

"Stage one has been completed," 'England' informed the masked image visible on his communicator as he stepped out of the security room, closing and locking the door in the process. "The guards have been knocked out, bound, and gagged. I'm about to head to the highlights' section of the museum, meaning that the Etruscan jewelry cannot be far ahead. Any sign of America?"

The Kitsune shook his head, relief spreading through the Englishman's system like a drug injected into his veins. "No sign of America-san. Though keep your guard up just in case he decoded your message earlier than initially intended."

Arthur nodded. "Alright. Don't hesitate to contact me in case something goes awry." He reminded, closing the communicator and slipping it into his pocket when his partner agreed.

 ** _I doubt he decoded the message faster than anticipated,_**  he shrugged, walking up the stairs to the second floor where the jewelry was located. He listened for the sound of police sirens and kept his eye out for an obnoxious personification of commercialism just to be on the safe side.  ** _With his emotions running wild it'd be difficult for him to think properly, much less deduce where I am at the moment._**

He grimaced when thinking of how true the words in his message to America were. How he was stupid for discarding his conscience for the sake of indulging the whims of hypocrites, and naïve for trusting them. How he followed their orders without question, and was oblivious or in denial to the fact he was being used.  ** _His mindset is calculable and yet his actions are not, making him the worst type of enemy: an unpredictable enemy._**

Though Arthur would never say it out loud, that scared him more than anything else. The idea that he could figure out how someone's mind worked all he wanted, but was powerless when it came to that person's outward conduct. Not everyone acted with their brain, some acted with the belief of their hearts.

And America's heart believed in New York's police.

 _ **You idiot,**_  the Brit scoffed internally, picking up his pace when he caught sight of a  **'Highlights of the Collection** ' sign hanging over an entrance not too far from where he was.  ** _They'll use you up and throw you away like a piece of garbage when you're no longer needed. Like all the dirty work you've done for them was meaningless, like you don't matter in the world._**

A soft sigh escaped from his mouth when he saw the Etruscan jewelry resting in a glass case, glad that he had enough foresight to disable the lasers surrounding the artifacts while he was in the security room, again.

He removed the glass case and began wrapping the items in fabric, depositing them into his theft bag when they were protected. After taking the artifacts (consisting of disks, pins, rings, and a necklace) and slipping them into his bag, he removed the replicas he made and had Kiku check for last-minute adjustments beforehand.

 _ **It's probably for the best that I do this,**_  he thought grimly, missing the sensation of his communicator vibrating against his hip, as he was too focused on putting the fake jewelry in the glass container the original jewelry previously rested in.  ** _This way, the NYPD will begin to lose their faith in him._**

The British thief placed the glass cover over the fake artifacts, stifling a gasp when the lights turned off and a sudden rush of wind passed by his face.

A moment passed before he tenderly touched his left cheek, shock registering itself in his eyes when he saw blood on his black gloves, and a knife embedded into the wall facing him.

Arthur spun around to face the intruder, his mask barely concealing his panic when seeing nothing but an open window. He silently removed a gun from his bag, keeping a finger on the trigger in case he had to shoot. "Who's there?"

A low laugh echoed throughout the room, sending unpleasant chills cascading down the blond's spine. His eyes darted all over the room in an attempt to find the source of the sound, unable to decipher its origin as the highlights' room was pitch-black, save for the light of the full moon shining through the open window. "Your worst fear, 'England'."

 _ **This isn't America,**_  'England' thought, stepping backwards as he continued to look for the person, repressing the urge to shake as it would be letting this intruder win. He couldn't allow them to see him in a state of fear. ** _Nor are they someone in the NYPD, as no one in the police force would try to take me down without backup._**

He swallowed, for once wishing that this person was America. At least then, he could have an idea of his enemy's strengths and weaknesses, and improvise a plan based on his data. Was this was they meant by his worst fear, being unable to act accordingly given he was facing an unknown enemy?

"I said what you are, not what you aren't," Arthur replied, taking a huge gamble by closing his eyes. Perhaps he could determine the voice's whereabouts by relying more on his ears than his eyes? The room was spacious, meaning that there had to be a point where the voice was coming from as it bounced off the walls. "You know who I am; it's only polite you tell me who you are."

Another low laugh, though it came from a different side of the room than before. How could they move so quickly? "You know who I am, 'England'. America has told me quite a bit about you."

The Englishman's eyes opened and widened behind his mask. "Wait, are you-?"

He was cut off by the sound of rustling fabric, vaguely registering the sight of a figure dropping from the ceiling. The figure walked closer, obscured by the shadows of the room, as Arthur held his gun in front of himself to prove he wasn't defenseless. He bit his lip when realizing how shaky his grip on his weapon was.

The figure clad in black stopped, darkness still obscuring their face. "You've guessed correctly," they said, a voice modifier hiding their voice. "And yes; I am O."

~ na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na~

Alfred internally grimaced when he saw 'O' climb from the roof of the Metropolitan Museum, panic biting at his nerves as he watched the male skillfully maneuver his way down the side of the building and swing through an open window in the highlights' section of the museum. As the museum was unused to the rapid attention it had received from the public, they didn't have enough time to repair the lunette window England broke.

Just thinking of England made his insides burn, as the superhero's gloved fists clenched at his sides. So, he was trying to lure him out, huh?

_The American glanced down at his cellphone reserved for his hero duties, his white mask with blue stars unable to hide his surprise at seeing a single letter pop up on the screen:_

_'O'._

_**Why is he calling me now?**  He thought, answering the phone when he received a nod of approval from Vash sitting beside him in the police car, wondering if he'd be able to hear him over the sound of the car's siren.  **I didn't have enough time to tell him about the video, is it possible something else happened? Maybe he intercepted the video from the NYPD so he could personally view it, and he wants to talk to me about that?**_

_Regardless, it was Oya. He couldn't just ignore his right-hand man, especially when he could provide crucial information. With that in mind, Alfred answered the phone. "Hello?"_

_"America," the voice, always dubbed by technological software, greeted the blond situated in the vehicle. "Did you view the video?"_

_"Yeah, I did," he said, looking through the window of the car in case he saw something England-related that would require Chief Zwingli to stop. "I take it you got into the system so you could see it too?"_

_"You've gotten more perceptive," 'O' complimented. "That's good to know. Yes, I hacked the system so that I could see it for myself. Have you already determined England's location?"_

_"Yep," the American affirmed, his blue gaze hardening when remembering it. "We're on our way. It won't be long before I'll get my hands on him."_

**_And when I do? He'll run out of swear words to describe how badly he's screwed._ **

_"You must not act unreasonably."_

_That statement caught him off-guard. "What do you mean by that?" He asked, a light eyebrow rising from beneath his mask._

_"If you act with your emotions instead of with logic, then you'll only be playing into his hands," Oya explained, quirking Alfred's confusion further. "Allow me to handle this; I'm near the Metropolitan Museum already, so you need not worry about my estimated time of arrival."_

_"How will I be playing into his hands? I'm not understanding this, 'O'," the masked blond addressed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation._

_"From what I've heard from you, England is not to be taken lightly," the voice acknowledged as Alfred leaned back in his seat. "He is a strategist; analyzing his opponent's movements and methods of thinking, and using them to his advantage. He's encountered you before, so chances are that he'll use your flaws against you."_

_"What flaws do you think he'll use?" The superhero wondered out loud as Chief Zwingli turned off the siren of his police car so that they could catch England by surprise when they arrived at the Metropolitan Museum._

_"No offense America, but while you're intelligent, you've been known to let your emotions get in the way," 'O' admitted, a hint of guilt present even through the voice manipulator. "With that in mind, why else would he deliberately send that message to you if not to wind you up?"_

_His eyes widened, understanding and shock co-existing with his anger. England decided to toy with his emotions to gut a reaction out of him?! He wanted to use him as a puppet, how typical for someone by the likes of him! And to think England had the nerve to say that the NYPD was using him, the hypocrite._

_**That bastard,**  he growled internally, snapping out of his red stupor by the small crack of his phone. He really needed to stop almost breaking phones.  **He'll regret this.**_

_He couldn't stop the small laugh that escaped his throat. "Okay," he smirked, staying in place when the police car stopped a short distance from the museum. "Go in there and scare the hell out of him."_

_"Got it, America."_

_"Oh, and 'O'?"_

_"Yes, America?"_

_"Make him squirm."_

That had been almost thirty minutes ago, and Oya had snuck into the Metropolitan Museum through the lunette window about three minutes ago. In Alfred's opinion, that was three minutes too long.

 _ **I know this is his first time in the field,**_  he thought distastefully, keeping a firm grip on his gun in case the worst happened and he had to use it. Precaution was always a virtue to abide by.  ** _But I'm not sure if this is the best time for him to start. While I have faith in him, I wouldn't want to risk him getting personally caught up in all of this._**

The thing Alfred envied about Oya was the fact that he hadn't given the public a name or a face to associate with him. No one outside the NYPD knew that America, New York's famous superhero, had a right-hand man to help him. Because Alfred had given life to 'America', the public knew to praise America for the successful capture of criminals, and knew to bash him with hate for the failed attempts at capturing criminals. And, because America and the NYPD worked hand-in-hand, the glory and the negativity caused both of them to suffer, even if the fault rested entirely with Alfred.

 _ **But that's the price I had to pay,**_  he continued to think, hoping nothing but the best for his partner-in-crime-fighting.  ** _So I have to go about making sure I don't make mistakes, to prevent the NYPD from suffering because of my inability to stop criminals. It's a double-edged sword, but it's one I'm grown comfortable with using._**

His facial muscles felt uncomfortable when his features contorted into a frown.  _ **And yet it's one that England wants to use to his advantage. He thinks that if he causes the public to hate me, they'll hate the NYPD too. And that won't be good no matter how you look at it.**_

He made a mental note to repair his gloves later, as his palms had ripped open due to the intensity of his fist-clenching.  ** _He's the only criminal I haven't been able to catch so far, and he's been using that to his extent by making myself and the NYPD look like fools. But it won't be long before he's put behind bars, before he's everybody's fool._**

The American's face returned to its default happy look, though this time not by default.  ** _Surely, with someone like him gone, Arthur can smile more often, right?_**

His thoughts were broken when black smoke broke through all the windows and engulfed the area in darkness.

~ na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na~

"You guessed correctly," he said, still unable to get used to his mobile voice modifier connected to his attire. He knew it would have been easier to simply purchase one off the internet, but it was always more fun to make contraptions like this by hand. Not to mention that, since he made the replicas for the Ganymede jewelry, he had more time devoted to his more personal interests. Regardless, it was strange for him to move around with a lightweight, fully-functional modifier stored on his person. "And yes; I am O."

'England' laughed. "You're 'O'?" He managed to say between bouts of laughter, one hand holding onto his stomach while the other hand rested firmly on his gun. So he was appearing confident to hide how badly he hated the thought of being unable to anticipate an enemy's moves? Typical move, but a move nonetheless. "Well, glad to meet the person behind the letter. Somewhat. Portable voice modifier?"

'O' nodded. "I made it myself. I'm rather good with my hands," he commented, motioning to the knife still embedded deeply into the wall. The thief's free hand went from his stomach to his cheek, as if remembering he was hit. "As you experienced first-hand before, no pun intended."

If the Brit hadn't been wearing a mask, he would have assumed he made a sour expression based on the tone of his voice. "That was uncalled for," he grumbled, his emerald eyes narrowed behind his black mask with silver tree branches. "You should have at least bought me a drink before making a pass at my face."

Oya repressed the urge to laugh. This was the dreaded England who was the bane of America's existence? While America had super-human strength, it seemed this villain's weapon was a combination of his mind and sharp tongue. "I apologize," he drawled, wondering if his sarcasm could be detected through his machinery. "I'll make sure to purchase an alcoholic beverage of some kind before doing so."

"Glad to know there's some semblance of manners in this god-forsaken era," the blond shrugged, his gun unwavering in his grip. "I feared for my generation. You've brought hope into my life again."

"That hope will have to be diminished soon," Oya revealed, as all seriousness (or whatever seriousness was visible beneath that mask of his) left the thief's expression. "As I have been assigned to capture you."

A lengthy silence passed, broken by another laugh from the Brit.

'O' wondered if the curious tilt of his head could be seen from the shadows he purposely surrounded himself by.

"That won't do," 'England' started, as he ran a hand through his tousled blond locks, his gaze unwavering even as his hand on his gun began to. "That won't do at all."

"I'm afraid you have no choice, 'England'," 'O' informed, stepping a bit closer but not to the point where he could be fully seen. If he was seen, then-

"Interesting thing about that," the British male went on, oblivious to Oya's sentence, as he reached into the pocket of his black tailcoat and pulled out a glass ball full of…dark smoke? "Can you guess what this is?"

Oya's eyes widened in fear behind his black fabric mask. He extended a hand. "Wait, don't use that thi-"

His thoughts were broken when black smoke broke through all the windows and engulfed the area in darkness.

~ na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na~

Arthur stumbled near the broken lunette window and climbed upwards with his heist bag, keeping a firm grip on the walls as he traveled up the side of the building. He assumed that, since the museum was unused to the rapid attention it had received from the public, they didn't have enough time to repair the lunette window he broke before. He also assumed that 'O' had shot the knife from that particular direction, through the window was the route he took in order to get inside and catch him by surprise. So, if he came that way, surely someone else could escape that same way?

That was what he was betting on, at least, as he didn't think the black fog trick would work so easily.

_"It's a standard smoke bomb," Kiku informed as he set the glass ball inside the Briton's theft bag. "With black coloring to ensure a good escape. Effective, very easy to make, even easier to use as you just throw it to break the glass and release the substance."_

_"I'm not sure when I'll use this," Arthur admitted as he cast another glance to his bag. "It'll be good to have just in case, I'll make sure to use it only if I'm in a tight spot."_

He raced across the rooftops with his heist bag in tow, as he kept his eyes peeled for the student dorms of NYU. When he was sure he was out of reach from the police, he slowed his pace until he stopped on the roof of a building. Arthur took a moment to breathe, as he suddenly felt lightheaded due to lack of adrenaline, and, after making sure no one was around, he swapped his tailcoat, green dress shirt, and tie for his white undershirt. He stored those articles of fabric into his bag, along with his gloves and mask.

 _ **For now, at least, I'm okay,**_  he managed to think semi-coherently, unable to remember how he got back to his dorm as the world blended in swirling colors through his hazy mind whirling with adrenaline and exhaustion, only remembering how soft his bed felt beneath his aching body when he collapsed on the mattress.  ** _I'm okay._**

His eyelids grew heavy on his face, the dull ache of his arms and legs increasing with every pulse of his heart. His reserve of energy had run its course and enabled him to evacuate the Metropolitan Museum in the face of an unpredictable adversary, and left him weary and shaky beneath his comforter.

"I just..." Arthur spoke dazedly, unsure what corners of his brain and body were still functional enough to even facilitate (albeit somewhat) proper English. "I just...hope Alfred's okay...w-wherever he is..."

And he succumbed into the arms of Morpheus, the inner-mechanisms of his mind truly an enigma to him as he dreamed horrifying dreams (if such things those atrocities could be called) of mechanical voices permeating throughout rooms of blackened smoke, the smoke of which dug into his lungs and nearly suffocated him like a python wrapping around its prey before swallowing it whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: So it turns out there's an episode of the original Batman T.V show from the 60s (with Adam West), where Batman's best friend turns out to be an anti-hero named 'The Green Hornet', who happens to have a Japanese sidekick. Yeah, I squealed too. Totally didn't see that coming. 
> 
> Please don't hesitate to favorite/follow as I'd like you to continue on this journey with me, I'll try to update soon. Please also don't hesitate to leave a review, as my heart leaps a bit everytime I see someone commented on my story. Positive/negative comments are welcome, as I appreciate constructive criticism.
> 
> Until then? Stay awesome.


	11. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which confusing feelings surface and a memory is revisited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular font indicates the present.
> 
> Italic font indicates flashbacking.
> 
> Bold italic font indicates thought.
> 
> Bold regular font indicates writing/typing.

Alfred stared at the pixilated image on his phone, his face pale with a slack-jawed expression residing amongst his features. After a moment, he leaned back in his chair as a groan escaped from his lips, the pixilated image of the Metropolitan Museum exuding black smoke still engraved into his brain.

He picked up his coffee and sipped at it, barely registering the familiar taste burning into his tongue as he was still trying to comprehend the situation at hand.

 _ **This is just getting ridiculous,**_  the American thought, glancing around at the other people present in the Starbucks' café out of habit. Since England had made his first debut with the Ganymede jewelry, America and the NYPD had been receiving vast amounts of negative recognition, so his paranoia had heightened with every picture of 'America' plastered in the media as someone could figure out the hero's secret identity.  _ **How long does England plan on bothering us?**_

A second glance to those at the café confirmed his suspicions, as all were on their phones and looking at the images of the smoke-bombed Metropolitan Museum. Another groan escaped his throat as he rubbed his temples.  ** _I swear, these acts are nothing but big performances to him._**

_"You claim to be a hero for justice who handles all criminals without discrimination or personal bias, and yet you work with the NYPD?"_

_"Are you stupid enough to follow what they say, or are you just naïve? Are you oblivious to the sins they've committed, or are you just in denial?"_

_"It's obvious you have a difficult enough time abiding by your own rules. Or is it possible those little morals of yours are just for show? A little self-gratification to satisfy your hero complex?"_

He scowled, his grip on his Styrofoam cup tightening until a small 'crack' forced him to relinquish it.  ** _Yet, as much as I hate to admit it, his methods are effective._**

The second strike at the Metropolitan Museum had occurred the previous night, yet rumors and images supporting said rumors had spread like wildfire across the internet. While he had no idea who was responsible for the pictures, they were posted onto the same website responsible for both the original Metropolitan and the America fiasco photos. Taking that into consideration, it was logical to assume that England, or more over, England's helper, was responsible for the smoke pictures uploaded to the internet.

He ground his teeth when remembering that, unable to stop wondering why he hadn't received some kind of message from the NYPD telling him to stop interfering with England.

 ** _They don't want their reputation to be tarnished any further,_**  Alfred thought, clicking on other websites to see if they had photos of their own, mentally sighing in relief when such wasn't the case. It would have been bad if multiple sources had their own pictures of last night as that would mean a lot of people witnessed the event, but thankfully the situation could be much more manageable considering it was the same set of photos on each site he visited.  ** _The actions the police took during the Metropolitan heist made that clear, though it ended up backfiring in their faces. Still, so long as I keep interacting with England I risk the chance of further humiliating them, so why haven't they talked to me about it?_**

_"If you hope to change things through doing their dirty work, you're only encouraging them to act unethical knowing you'll clean up their mess."_

_**Is it possible that he's…somehow right? Am I nothing but a show dog to them? If that's the case, why haven't they said anything when it's clear I'm only hurting them?** _

The American shook his head in a futile attempt to shake away his thoughts, as he took another swig of his drink.  ** _What am I thinking, taking a criminal's words into account when it's clear he wants nothing more than to ruin me? He's rotten to the core, the type who won't hesitate to use my weaknesses to his advantage; I'd only be helping him if I started thinking like him!_**

The concept sent chills down his spine. To share the same mindset with a criminal…he'd never stomach the disgrace.

 ** _I became a hero for two reasons, and two reasons only,_**  the bespectacled blond recalled, standing up and throwing his cup away when he finished.  ** _Reason number one was to repay my parents for their deeds and ensure their sacrifice wasn't in vain by preventing people from dying, families being torn apart, and lives being destroyed._**

His gaze softened behind his glasses, his heart tugging uncomfortably in his chest.  ** _Reason number two was to help Arthur. To make a world free of unnecessary hardship and pain so that he could find more reasons to smile._**

Alfred exited the Starbucks café with his phone, still viewing the Metropolitan smoke pictures as he began walking down the street. A quick glance in the direction of Central Park caused another squeeze in his chest cavity, his cheeks heating up when recalling the events of yesterday afternoon.

 _ **It's so strange to think all of that happened yesterday,**_  he continued to internally monologue within the depths of his mind, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as they were starting to slip.  ** _A lot of crazy stuff's happened as of late, it's easy to forget how much time has passed._**

Alfred's walk stopped for half a second before he resumed, the reason being he had remembered what he almost did to Arthur.

 _ **What would I have done if my phone hadn't gone off?**_  He wondered, his blush worsening against his cheekbones and his pulse speeding up.  ** _Would I have really-?_**

His face erupted into fifty shades of red as he furiously shook his head a second time.  ** _No, no, no! Friends don't do that to each other, no matter how close they are! And while I have nothing against people who play for the same team, guys don't go off and kiss other guys out of nowhere!_**

Had he been near a wall, he would have rammed his head against it so that he could release the blood pooling in his face.

 ** _T-t-though it was really strange,_**  he acknowledged mentally, using his blond bangs to somewhat conceal the crimson state of his facial features.  ** _I-I've known that Arthur isn't as masculine as other guys I've known, but for some reason he was actually kind of…beautiful._**

This time, he slapped his own cheeks so that hopefully the pain could distill his train of thought that was steadily going into a weird, weird tunnel.  ** _And another thing, guys don't think of other guys as beautiful!_**

"Alfred, should I be concerned as to why you're hitting yourself?"

The American dropped his phone and jumped, partly because he didn't expect to be called out in public, partly because for a minute that familiar accent reminded of-

"-England?" Arthur finished Alfred's thought, somehow catching the bespectacled blond even more off-guard. He blinked a few times to register what happened, only to see Arthur standing across from him with his fallen phone in his hands. "Why are you looking up pictures of England on your phone?" The Brit wondered out loud, showing the image currently residing on the phone screen to Alfred. While the screen hadn't cracked (thank God), his fingers had accidentally clicked on a picture of England when he lost his grip.

"Oh, that," the taller blond laughed, scratching the back of his head out of embarrassment. "Everybody's been raving about him nowadays, with the Metropolitan heist and the smoke from last night."

Alfred was curious in regards to why Arthur suddenly paled. "Smoke from last night?" He questioned, quirking a light eyebrow to rise against the American's forehead. "Where did you hear about that?"

It was Alfred's turn to pale, though he hoped the bushy-browed Briton wouldn't notice. "Again, everybody's been raving about it. Supposedly some pictures were leaked onto the 'net, so it could just as easily be a fake."

Arthur nodded, handing him the phone. "Yeah, probably," he agreed, following Alfred when he pocketed his phone and continued to walk. "So what are you doing out and about?"

"Needed my caffeine fix," the bespectacled American grinned, prompting a facepalm from his friend. "Hey, I caught you in a Starbucks once, so don't act like you're innocent either!"

"That was at a last resort and you know it," Arthur retorted when he removed his hand from his forehead, wincing when his fingers grazed a certain part of his face. "In any other circumstance, I wouldn't be caught dead in that place."

The shorter blond failed to notice the uneasy look on the taller blond's face at the sight of his cut.

"What happened to your cheek?" Alfred asked, pulling the Brit aside so that they wouldn't hold up the crowd and taking his face into his hands. He lightly skimmed his thumb over the smooth cut, oblivious to how badly Arthur was blushing beneath his touch. "I don't remember that being there, yesterday."

_At this point, all Alfred knew was warmth. The warmth of the diminishing sun, the warmth of Arthur's cheeks, the warmth of his own heart beating wildly within his chest cavity. He couldn't speak, he couldn't phrase anything into words, the only thing he could think was one sentence:_

**_More than anything, I want him to be happy because I-_ **

Surprise overtook his features when the British boy wretched out of his grip, his features a bizarre mixture between paleness and vibrant red. "I-I was trimming my hair and cut my cheek with scissors," he explained, averting the American's gaze for unbeknownst reasoning. "Trust me, I'm fine."

Alfred's brow furrowed in a worried manner, but his expression vanished as a fake smile arose to mask his concern and disappointment(?). "Got it," he said, pulling on the male's sleeve so that they could walk some more. "Though if there's any place that needs trimming, it's your eyebrows~"

"My eyebrows are fine!" Arthur snapped, his arms crossed over his chest as his face continued to heat up.

The American rolled his eyes, a genuine smile replacing the fake one as he observed the pouting Englishman beside him. "Size 48 eyebrows aren't really in style, Artie~"

"Neither are Captain America pajamas," Arthur countered, a smirk etched onto his features. "While you're twenty-one, you still behave like a child."

"This coming from the guy who has a closet-full of Harry Potter merchandise and can quote 'Sherlock' word for word," Alfred taunted, ruffling Arthur's blond hair and relishing how even the tips of his ears were red. "Seriously, Kiku got you into 'Black Butler' and you holed yourself up in your dorm for a week!"

"That show was good," Arthur deadpanned, pouting when Alfred burst into laughter. "S-shut up! Don't forget that when we were asked what our career goals were, you said 'four words: genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist'!"

"Hey, those are pretty good goals," the bespectacled blond shrugged, much to Arthur's chagrin. "You're just mad because you haven't decided what you want to do, yet."

"I've been pre-occupied as of late," Arthur began, eyeing his American friend when he opened his mouth to protest. "With things aside from studying and marathoning T.V shows!"

"Things like what, if you don't mind my asking?" Alfred responded in a 'oh really?' tone as he doubted the statement. "Enlighten me~"

"T-t-things which require a lot of my time, nowadays!"

"Things like what? Cosplay?"

"No."

"Crossdressing?"

"No."

"A gay lover?"

"N-no!"

"Damn, and here I wanted to see how that would turn out, since I'd be interested in meeting a guy up to your standards," Alfred mock-sighed, provoking (yet another) vibrant blush to overtake the Brit's pale cheekbones. "Bummer."

"You shouldn't joke about things like that," Arthur mumbled, looking away out of embarrassment. Alfred was surprised to find that the Englishman's line-of-sight trailed in the same direction as Central Park. "What if someone overheard you?"

The American felt a small pin-prick in his chest, though he brushed it off. "What about it?"

Arthur snorted lightly, his eyes half-lidded as he continued to look away, a strange smile playing against his features. Not necessarily happy, but not necessarily sad either. "You wouldn't want someone to get the wrong idea, would you?"

 _ **What's with that look you're wearing?**_  Alfred thought, glancing to the Briton as they continued to walk.  ** _I know it wouldn't bother me, but why would it bother you?_**

He grimaced internally, his hands turning to fists at his sides.  ** _It hurts me to see you look like that. That's why I've gone so far and done so much as 'America'; to make a world where you can live happily._**

A soft sigh escaped him, unheard by the blond beside him.  ** _But why does it seem like my efforts are always futile? In spite of how many criminals I put in jail, how many bad influences I catch, he remains the same. Regardless of how far I reach and try to grab him, he always slips away like water through my hands._**

Alfred bit his lip as he turned to look at Arthur, wondering what the source of the expression on his face was. That wistful, almost longing look that made the male's features soften yet harden at the same time, that made him look older than he was.

Just seeing that face made him remember something. Something that always made his heart feel like it had broken and repaired incorrectly.

Alfred never wanted to see Arthur cry again.

_Alfred was exhausted._

_All day, he had been receiving phone calls from the NYPD to chase after criminals, to the point where he found it easier to simply wear his America attire beneath his normal attire in case he had to change!_

_While it was a million times easier playing the part of 'America' in college than it was in high school, he still found it difficult to manage his superhero duties while balancing homework and classes. Combined with the fact that he had a few morning classes, he was more than ready to collapse into bed for a couple hours._

_A yawn escaped from his mouth as he readjusted his shirt, paranoid that the fabric would ride up and reveal his superhero outfit, uncharacteristic signs of tiredness present on his person and ranging from his glasses askew on his face to the sluggishness of his speed._

_"I'll say goodnight to Arthur and then I'll go to sleep," he reminded himself as he exited his dorm and headed downstairs to the floor where Arthur and Kiku lived. His groggy mind barely registered his trip until he found himself at the door, where he knocked twice._

_He wasn't surprised when the door didn't open; after all, it was an ungodly time at night/morning, it was logical to assume that the two had already gone to sleep._

_What did surprise him, though, was the fact that their door was unlocked._

_**That's odd,**  he thought semi-coherently as he turned the knob and opened the door, stepping inside and quietly closing and locking the door behind him.  **Arthur's always cautious about keeping the doors locked; I wonder why he'd forget this time?**_

_He trudged through the hallway, making sure to keep his footsteps light and quiet considering he knew how pissed off Arthur (and surprisingly Kiku) could get when woken up. If the Briton was awake, then he'd say goodnight and all that. If not, he'd go away. Simple as that._

_What he wasn't anticipating was coming close to Arthur's door, fist raised to knock on the door and everything, only to stop as he heard muffled sobs on the other side of the door._

_It was probably his sleep-deprived mind that was responsible for the warm ball of weird emotions that swelled in his chest at the sound. It was also probably his sleep-deprived mind that was responsible for him slowly opening the door._

_He had no idea what to expect. Maybe Arthur curled up on the floor with his laptop, crying into tissues because of 'Sherlock' season three? Maybe on his the edge of his bed facing his T.V, mouthing 'You have your mother's eyes' while watching 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows' part two? Maybe in the closet on his phone, shaking his head while trying to deny that 'Black Butler' season two happened?_

_He honestly expected those things were more likely to happen._

_Instead, he saw Arthur with his back to the door, sitting beside his window. His shoulders were slumped as if the world was dumped onto him, his skin a mess of pale and pink from his tears. One hand covered his face and muffled his sobs, while the other hand held his cellphone to his chest._

_Alfred had no idea how long he stood in the doorway staring at the Englishman situated by his window, how long he heard his ragged breathing and soft weeping. All he knew was how badly his heart cracked into pieces when Arthur turned to look at him, tears clinging to his eyelashes and streaming down his cheeks, his gaze deep and full of despair._

_The American felt whatever pent-up feeling in his chest release when he walked over and hugged the Brit. He felt Arthur's arms wrap around his upper back, felt his fingers dig into his spine, felt his face bury into the fabric of his shirt. Alfred rested his chin on top of Arthur's head, kept one hand around his waist, and the other hand on the boy's back to keep him steady._

_Again, he had no idea how long it was until Arthur finally met his bespectacled gaze, embarrassment and guilt swimming in pools of emerald. He looked like he wanted to say something, but Alfred beat him to it before he could open his mouth._

_"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he insisted, catching the Briton off-guard based on the widening of his eyes. "Trust me when I say that."_

_Out of the years he had known Arthur, he had only seen him cry tears of sadness once. That time had actually been four months ago._

Another soft sigh escaped him, as he figured he might as well voice his thoughts.

"I wouldn't care about people getting the wrong idea," Alfred answered to break the silence, arousing his confusion when Arthur looked back at him with widened eyes. "People could think whatever the hell they wanted and I wouldn't care. Whatever you meant by all of that."

Another moment of silence passed between the two, broken by the Brit's laughter.

Arthur laughed as they walked, attempting/failing to smother his laughter by covering his mouth with the palm of his hand. "You're such an idiot," he managed to say through his fingers, the sight of his smile making the world seem a bit duller by comparison for an instant. "You really are."

Alfred smiled, his eyes crinkling in relief behind his glasses. "Ah, but you love me anyway~" He joked, admiring how quickly (and vibrantly) the boy could blush.

"No I don't," Arthur stated, crossing his arms with a smirk in vain efforts to mask his crimson skin. "You're a delusional twat as always, Jones."

"But I'm your delusional twat, Kirkland~"

 _ **I'll continue to use 'America' as my sword,**_  Alfred thought even while they continued to walk together back to NYU, talking and playfully-arguing all the while.  ** _And even if 'England' attempts to twist my thoughts and ruin my plans, I'll take him down. With 'England' out of the way, criminals of all kinds will no longer mock 'America' and the NYPD. Instead they will fear them, causing crime to diminish and making New York safer._**

**_Then, and only then, can Arthur live in peace._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: That's it for this chapter, although head to fanfiction.net if you want to read some of the bloopers I originally wrote. Hope you enjoyed this installment, I'll update again soon :)  
> Until then? Stay awesome.


	12. Hello, Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur visits his parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular font indicates the present.
> 
> Italic font indicates flashbacking.
> 
> Bold italic font indicates thought.
> 
> Bold regular font indicates writing/typing.

Arthur stared at the pixilated image on his phone, his face pale with a slack-jawed expression residing amongst his features. After a moment, he leaned back in his chair as a groan escaped from his lips, the pixilated image of the Metropolitan Museum exuding black smoke still engraved into his brain.

 _ **How is this even possible? I wouldn't have believed this was real if it wasn't Alfred that showed it to me,**  _he thought, rubbing his temples as he could feel the beginnings of a headache forming beneath his skin, his brow furrowing with every second his mind dwelled on the pictures at hand.

He had left NYU to attend to some personal business, but he ended up bumping into Alfred and forgetting his mission by getting caught up in cheerful smiles and fake-arguments. He hadn't even realized he returned to his dorm earlier than anticipated until Kiku woke up and asked him about it before tending to his morning health routine!

 _ **Is it possible that these pictures are fake? No, it'd be too coincidental to have fake pictures of this exact scenario occur the night after,**_  Arthur dismissed internally, his expression softening at the thought of his American friend who had managed to brighten up his gloomy mood that had been plaguing him all morning.  _ **Even so, neither America nor the NYPD would have taken photos of that night, considering they wouldn't want a repeat of the first Metropolitan heist. While they wouldn't hide information from the public like they did before, they wouldn't go out of their way to inform them about it, either. I'm only curious in regards to who took the picture and posted it onto the website responsible for all the other pictures, and why that site in particular. I couldn't have done it because I headed back to NYU immediately, and would have probably gotten caught by the police had I decided to stop and snap some pictures. Kiku couldn't have done it because he was here the entire time, and, as 'O' is America's helper, he would have nothing to gain from leaking the photo onto the internet when it would obviously bite America in the arse.**_

The blond rested his elbows on his desk, pressing the weight of his torso onto them as he looked out the window. Since the second Metropolitan incident, the school grounds had been clear of press craving to get a glimpse of the America fiasco's mystery man. Such things didn't matter to them anymore, what with new material to publish and potential victims to mock.

Namely, America and the NYPD again.

He bit his lip, resuming his reminiscence. ** _'O' was the one factor I didn't take into account; I didn't expect him to go into the field by himself, even if he probably did have reinforcements on standby. However, it's not like this is necessarily a bad thing,_**  he continued mentally, pulling up his laptop so he could get to work on Ailateh.  _ **After all, everything is going according to plan; As far as the public knows, America is a fool for sending the police out on a wild goose chase for artifacts that were never stolen, and a selfish prat for using a smoke bomb to hide his mistakes and make it look like it was a valid crime. Considering the Metropolitan heist has been recreated (for the most part), all I have to do is sit back and wait for the press to bash on the police and New York's famous superhero.**_

The Brit couldn't stop the smirk rising against his features. His gaze cascaded over the bidding offers set up for the Etruscan jewelry on the black market website, the light of his screen reflecting in his emerald eyes and dancing off the ceiling. Even though the second Metropolitan heist happened the previous night, he had already set up a product profile for the Etruscan jewelry as he was that confident his plan would work. Granted, there were a few variables he didn't take into the equation, but he took what he got and used it to his advantage.  ** _It's not like anyone will believe America if he says he really did send the police out to stop a thief. After all, it's clear that the NYPD forced him to keep silent about the first heist; who's to say that he's not being fed lies to preserve what semblance of a reputation both he and the police still have?_**

"And by the time it's revealed the Etruscan jewelry is nothing but replicas, it'll already be too late," he mumbled, clicking on the profile of a bidder to get a good idea of what kind of criminal they were. "Word will get out that the same crime occurred by the hands of the same criminal, making the police and America seem even more ineffective. And it won't be long before the NYPD will be forced to disband due to their diminished image in the eyes of the public and media."

There were only two things keeping the New York Police Department alive, one of them being reputation. Reputation was essential to keeping the police alive, as it would be difficult for the people to cooperate with them if both the public and media viewed them in a negative light. That was why the police were so reluctant to get rid of America in spite of how many errors he made. Not only did he catch criminals without being paid by the police (instead being paid thanks to his costume's product placement), but he boosted their public image with every criminal he captured and gave everyone a face to associate with 'justice'. After all, which was easier to like? A group of people dressed in black with guns strapped to their hips? Or a smiling, patriotic superhero?

However, the police being involved with America was a double-edged sword, as America had much more power than he realized. Because of this, the NYPD purposely kept certain tidbits of information away from him, as one false move on his end could result in everyone's downfall, not to mention that, if America somehow realized how much authority he possessed, he could use that as a weapon to wield against the police if they didn't change things in his favor.

The second thing keeping the New York Police Department alive was funding. This was self-explanatory, as items like guns and cars weren't cheap in the current economy. While there were foundations created for the purpose of raising money, it simply wasn't enough to afford the costs ranging from paychecks to settling lawsuits. Several times in the past, members of the force had been accused of accepting money from politicians on the grounds that the police find loopholes and arrest political opponents, but those kinds of situations weren't nearly as uncommon as they used to be.

 _ **Rumors have been spreading all over the internet, claiming the NYPD is guilty for being bribed by the mafia,**_  Arthur continued to monologue within his mind, reading up on the profiles and absorbing as much information as he could.  ** _Supposedly, the mafia 'funds' the police, and in exchange the police turn their heads away from the mafia's crimes. I'd investigate those rumors myself if I could, however, the only problem is discovering which mafia would be sending financial support._**

Surprise etched itself onto his expression when he caught sight of a familiar username bidding on the Etruscan jewelry. After a moment, his wireless mouse clicked on the username bearing the alias ' **Russia** ' so that he could observe why this person in particular had bid on his recent item when he had bid on previous items before.  _ **You'd think with an organization big enough to fund the NYPD they'd be easy to find, but that isn't the case; if anything, they're more difficult to find as they take more precaution covering up their tracks.**_

 _ **The idea that multiple mafias fund the police isn't a theory to be overlooked, yet the mafias in New York are extremely territorial, always trying to ruin one another so that their group can end up on top.**_  He mentally shrugged, creating another internet tab so he could check for any articles regarding the black smoke from last night.  ** _Therefore, the idea of multiple groups joining together, as opposed to the idea of a singular group, is laughable._**

When realizing his thoughts, Arthur shook his head in an attempt to dissuade them.  ** _But all of that is speaking hypothetically. The point is, if I cut off one of the two roots, that opens the possibility of the other root being cut, causing the whole plant to wither up and die._**

"The first step is diminishing the way the public and media view America and the NYPD," Arthur reminded himself, his expression lighting up when catching sight of some new articles already published on the internet, his hand resting on his cheek as he visited various websites and briefly skimmed over their contents. "The next course of action will be determined once the current tasks at hand have been cleared."

"Ah, so the tasks at hand relating to last night's heist?" A voice interrupted Arthur's train of thought, causing the Englishman to look from his laptop and sigh in relief.

"Precisely, Kiku," the Brit replied, adjusting the angle of his computer screen so that the Japanese could see from where he stood in the threshold of the bathroom, fresh steam still emitting from the room even though the Asian had finished showering five minutes ago. "At the moment, our priority is pitting the public and media against the police and America."

"We shall strike while the efforts of both New York's finest and New York's superhero are focused on getting the people's opinions in their favor," the brunette acknowledged, quirking a nod of agreement from the blond. "Causing their opinion to lessen, resulting in more damage control, rinse and repeat."

"You couldn't have phrased it better," Arthur grinned, rolling in his chair so that he was facing his laptop again. "Articles and pictures relating to last night have already sprouted, meaning it won't be long before we go again."

"Pictures?" Kiku asked, resulting in a bushy brow rising against the Briton's forehead. "Where were they posted, and by whom?"

"I'm not sure," Arthur admitted, his eyes narrowing as he remembered the events of the previous evening, his grip on his wireless mouse tightening a miniscule amount. "All I know is that they used the same website you used to post the original Metropolitan pictures."

"That same website was responsible for the America fiasco pictures as well, right?"

"Yes. Neither of us have been able to determine who posted those photos as well."

"Do you think it could have been 'O'?"

Arthur exhaled through his nose, opening the blinds of his window and looking outside. It looked like it might rain. Perhaps he should go off tomorrow, instead? "Again, I'm not sure," he murmured, his features turning to stone when recalling what day it was. "It's extremely likely that 'O' would have been the one responsible for the America fiasco pictures, as it would draw the attention off the NYPD and the Metropolitan heist."

The Brit smiled grimly, the feeling of failure flooding through his system. "I encountered 'O' last night, as a matter of fact."

If Arthur had been looking at Kiku, he would have seen his brown eyes widen. "You did? So that explains why my security system feed was disconnected again."

"It was disconnected a second time? I assume it was under the same conditions as last time, yes?" Arthur commented, provoking a nod from his partner-in-crime. "And yes," the Englishman affirmed, his hands in the pockets of his pants as he looked back at his roommate. "Though I didn't get a look at his face, nor did I hear his voice. He had a portable voice modifier."

It was the brunette's turn to sit down, only he sat down on the couch. The Japanese hugged his knees to his chest, his brow uncharacteristically furrowed. "I knew those things were in existence, but I didn't think he would go so far to hide his identity. Based on the pictures on the internet, you used the smoke bomb I gave you?"

The Briton folded his arms over his chest, grimacing when remembering how badly the smoke infiltrated his lungs and nearly suffocated him. He didn't want to imagine what 'O' had to deal with, especially seeing as though the blunt of the bomb was targeted on him. "Yes," he answered. "It surprised me that 'O' recognized it. He tried to get me to stop, but I already put the jewelry in my bag and put the replicas in the glass case, so he was my only obstacle left."

Kiku nodded again. "Based on his technological prowess, I'm not surprised that he recognized it. Smoke bombs are easy to make, even easier to use after all. Though why would he have gone into the field on his own?"

"Probably to catch me off-guard," Arthur notified, slumping in his chair with his face in his hands at the humiliating memory. The memory of weakness in the presence of the enemy…he should have anticipated that scenario and properly prepared for it! If he had taken every scenario into account, he could have used some form of counterattack that didn't take the form of a smoke bomb! "He knew I was only used to America, and he used that to his advantage by facing me directly."

 _ **Don't know how America got his hands on a strategist,**_  he mused mentally, checking in on the Ailateh internet tab to check on the bidding progress on the Etruscan artifacts. A part of him was surprised to see that Russia had the highest bid again, but another part of him had a feeling it was to be expected.  ** _But that was a one-time trump card. Now that I've faced off with 'O' once, I can better prepare myself for next time._**

"I see Russia-san has the highest bid on the artifacts a second time?" Kiku remarked, drawing Arthur out of his thoughts with statement of confirmation. "How peculiar. It seems he has an affinity for rare items."

"What person doesn't?" The Englishman expressed, accepting the (presumably) Russian's online bidding offer with a click of his mouse. The amount of tea he could buy with that kind of money was unfathomable. But no, he wouldn't use the money for tea (tempting as it was, and by God, was it tempting). He had a better goal in mind. "I think it was Ciel Phantomhive from 'Black Butler' that said when something is truly lost, one can never get it back again?"

The Asian replied with a(nother) nod. "Hai, Arthur-san," he noted, removing his arms from around his knees. "Though really, one of these days we should have another anime marathon. Perhaps we could invite Alfred-san as well?"

Arthur couldn't stop the rapid heating of his cheeks when reminiscing the earlier morning, as he hurriedly answered with a yes and exited the dorm as he had some business he had to attend to, what with Alfred not being around to distract him. He made sure to bring an umbrella as well as the roses and the wrapped bundle of magic books he had purchased with Alfred, only he stuck those in a plastic bag given it had started to rain.

He barely registered his trip to the Bronx from NYU, his trip blending into fleeting moments of time as he dwelled in his memories from before. The Brit vaguely remembered stepping into a cab and directing them in a specified location, but the rest of the trip was drenched in nostalgia like the top of his umbrella was drenched in rainwater.

_"I've been pre-occupied as of late," Arthur began, eyeing his American friend when he opened his mouth to protest. "With things aside from studying and marathoning T.V shows!"_

_"Things like what, if you don't mind my asking?" Alfred responded in a 'oh really?' tone as he doubted the statement. "Enlighten me~"_

_"T-t-things which require a lot of my time, nowadays!" Arthur stuttered, repressing the urge to touch his cheek given it stung as badly now as it had the previous night._

_"Things like what? Cosplay?" Alfred questioned, an impish grin residing amongst his features._

_"No." Arthur shook his head, picking up his walk so that he could keep up with the tall American._

_"Crossdressing?" The bespectacled blond wondered out loud, resulting in a furious blush from the shorter blond._

_"No." The Briton managed to say without faultering._

_"A gay lover?"_

_Arthur's heart stopped in his chest and the air slipped out of his lungs, but he coughed out an "N-no!" before Alfred could notice._

_"Damn, and here I wanted to see how that would turn out, since I'd be interested in meeting a guy up to your standards," Alfred mock-sighed, provoking (yet another) vibrant blush to overtake the Brit's pale cheekbones. "Bummer."_

_"You shouldn't joke about things like that," Arthur mumbled, looking away out of embarrassment. Though Arthur wanted to look anywhere but at his friend, he was surprised to find that his line-of-sight trailed in the same direction as Central Park. "What if someone overheard you?"_

_"What about it?"_

_That statement shocked him, though he snorted lightly before he could stop himself. He continued to look away with half-lidded eyes, "You wouldn't want someone to get the wrong idea, would you?" He inquired with a wistful smile._

**_You, who I want nothing more than to see smile._ **

**_You, who shouldn't be involved with someone by the likes of me._ **

**_You, who would be happier with someone else. Anyone else._ **

_"I wouldn't care about people getting the wrong idea."_

_That sentence caused what felt like an electrical shock to spike through his system, resulting in him looking back at Alfred with wide eyes._

_He couldn't breathe because it felt like his heart was trying to escape from his rib cage. He couldn't speak because it felt like his tongue had tied itself into knots. He could only stare, stare in vain hopes of possibly conveying whatever the hell it was he was experiencing at the moment._

**_You, with whom I-_ **

_"People could think whatever the hell they wanted and I wouldn't care. Whatever you meant by all of that."_

_It took him a moment for his awe-struck brain to comprehend the American's statement, cold realization sinking into his system as quickly as the paralysis had. He did his best to hide his disappointment behind a laugh, however true or false it sounded. He honestly had no idea whether it was legitimate or fake at this point._

**_Of course._ **

_"You're such an idiot," he managed to say through his fingers. "You really are."_

**_Why would I expect anything else, you idiot with whom I've fallen in love with?_ **

When he blinked, he found himself staring at two familiar mounds of stone instead of the cushiony backseat of a cab or the optimistic grin of an American.

 _ **Right,**_  he thought, setting the bag on the ground but not relinquishing his grip. It gave him some form of reminder, some semblance of feeling through his numbed senses.  _ **I wanted to come here earlier, but I didn't. I meant to, but I-**_

His grip on the bag of books and roses slackened between his fingers as he remembered why he was here, how he came to be here.

_It all started with a phone call._

_He had been reciting some lines from Hamlet's soliloquy ("To die, to sleep-No more-and by a sleep to say we end,"), only to be interrupted by the opening theme of 'Doctor Who' emitting from his phone. He would have been lying if he said he hadn't nearly tripped over his own feet._

_"Hello?" he began when he picked up the phone, sitting beside his window as it was a lovely evening; the full moon had risen, spilling light throughout his room and making everything seem ethereal in his eyes. "Yes, I am Arthur Kirkland. Who is this?"_

_"Department Chief Vash Zwingli, Mr. Kirkland," the voice (a chief of the NYPD, he presumed) said on the other end of his phone. A thick eyebrow rose against the Briton's forehead. His pulse started to thunder in his ears as he began to worry. He had gotten used to this sort of feeling, especially when he was fifteen years old._

_Nothing could have prepared him for what he could have heard after that sentence._

_That had been the only time he had ever allowed Alfred to see him cry._

_That time had only been four months ago._

"'I regret to inform you that both of your parents have passed away,'" he quoted, sitting down on his knees as he faced the tombstones dotting with droplets of water. After a moment, he unsheathed his umbrella and held it over the stones, not caring of how much messier his hair would become when it dried. "'Your father while in prison, your mother due to unknown circumstances. Your father's body will be transported out of Riker's Island Correctional Facility in two days to Woodlawn Cemetery to where your mother will be transported.'"

_His heart was breaking. It was breaking but it made no sound, like a flower blooming but giving off no scent. He couldn't register the repeated questions of "Are you alright?" and "Should I contact another relative of yours?" that reverberated through his phone. He only held the phone to his chest, not even realizing how much he was crying until he felt arms wrap around his body and the faint smell of AXE deodorant invade his senses. Until he buried his face into an oversized Captain America shirt and felt someone put their head on top of his._

_Until he felt himself start to cry._

Arthur managed a smile, though he honestly had no idea whether it was legitimate or fake at this point. "I managed to get you some books for your birthday, mum," he explained, motioning to the mound of wrapped books next to his mother's stone. "I thought you would like them since you found magic fascinating. I also got you some roses, since you always loved their smell. I picked them out with Alfred, as a matter of fact."

Silence. There was silence, save for the gentle pitter-patter of water against rock and grass.

While he liked the silence, he had a special brand of hate reserved for it too. The same silence that engulfed his apartment he used to share with his parents located across the hall from the Jones', that caused the spider webs to form on his mother's bookshelves and dust to cover his father's spectacles. The same silence that made him move out and get a dorm at New York University, to escape the insanity that plagued him during the day when he'd swear he heard his father calling his name, to escape the nightmares that haunted him during the night when he'd wake up and walk to his parent's bedroom only to see nothing but folded blankets.

The same silence that brought comfort in the best of times, and madness in the worst.

"I've managed to keep up quite the façade, mum," he confided, confusing the tears on his face for the rain, confusing the difficulty of swallowing for allergies, the paleness of his skin for the cold. "I haven't told Alfred anything. About you being dead, about me being England, about me being in love with him. I've kept it all to myself. And-"

_"But I'm your delusional twat, Kirkland~"_

_"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for this, but please don't leave me. Please."_

_"Like people painting the NYPD as a villain, America as a voiceless puppet, and England as a hero?"_

_"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Trust me when I say that."_

_"I wouldn't care about people getting the wrong idea. People could think whatever the hell they wanted and I wouldn't care."_

His heart tightened up in his chest until he felt like his last breath would come out in a gasp. He lost his grip on his umbrella held over the graves, allowing the water to spill onto the stones. He grasped at where his heart was in vain efforts to rip it out of his chest, hoping that maybe the agony would leave a gaping wound.

"A-and it hurts," he choked out, the sudden intake of air causing him to double over in a fit of coughing. "I-it h-hurts so badly I-I feel like I'll explode! L-like my heart's impaled by an icicle, and it's so cold but makes me feel warm at the s-same time! L-like whatever walls I-I've p-put up are crumbling! I-I don't know what to do, a-and it scares me!"

Was it possible for someone to reach and tug at the clouds? To extend their fingers and barely scrape at the sky without gravity restricting them? He felt like the pressures weighing on his shoulders would send him tumbling back down before he even got a chance.

More than anything, he couldn't bear this. This feeling of utter…decay. Like he was rotting from the inside out, frozen in horror as he couldn't do anything about it. After a childhood of chess and a lifetime of watching people from the sidelines, observing them enough to figure out their mindsets, he grew to realize his complete fear of helplessness. The situations with 'O' and America only gave him a bigger picture of how badly his fear disabled him, forcing him to make rash and hasty decisions that would bite him later on.

He broke into another coughing fit, hating how weak he must seem in front of his parents. "I-I know how much A-Alfred loved you, mum," he spoke hoarsely, rubbing his eyes to remove traces of his tears. If anything, he probably increased the redness of his eyes. "S-so I've k-kept this a secret from him, s-since he never asked. Thank God he never a-asked."

Arthur swallowed, cringing at how swollen his throat felt. Really, how could he be so weak? It was a miracle enemies like 'O', hell, America hadn't caught him by now! "A-and I want him to be happy…b-but I want him to love me. A-am I selfish for wanting so much from him when he's done s-so much for me? I-I don't want to lose him, but I-"

The blond forced himself to stop, as he rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. "I am such an idiot," he muttered, his eyes narrowing between his fingers. "I over-complicate everything."

A soft exhale of breath escaped in a puff of smoke in front of his face. It was so hard to believe it was summer, given how cold it could easily become. "That aside, I-I don't want to ruin us," he whispered, his fingers retracting from his head and forming into fists at his sides. "Or what's left of us. I honestly don't know anymore, I feel like something has changed between us, but I can't discern what it is for the life of me."

 _ **He's hiding something from me, that much is certain,**_  he managed to think semi-coherently, blinking to distill the rainwater from his eyelashes.  ** _Whatever it is, I hope it's nothing serious._**

After a moment, he scratched the back of his head, aware of his previous emotional downpour as heavy as the rain. A soft blush adorned his features, though he felt a bit…better, bizarrely. Yet another thing he was unable to discern for the life of him.

"Two things are certain," he thought out loud, standing up with his umbrella. "I'll take down the NYPD for the both of you. So that neither of your deaths were in vain, and that the NYPD receives the swift hand of justice through dissolution. And, in that dissolution, a new police force will emerge, one free from the corruption and hypocrisy that took your lives away."

He smiled a genuine smile, his muscles aching in his cheeks as the gesture seemed to alien to him after what felt like an eternity. "And, in that dissolution and rebirth, Alfred can find happiness."

With that, he planted a kiss on his hands and pressed them to both of the tombstones, leaving the cemetery with his umbrella over his head and the gentle squish of puddles beneath his feet.

 _ **Four months ago, mum and dad died,**_  the Briton thought, stepping outside the entrance of Woodlawn Cemetery. He glanced over his shoulder, back at the stones sitting in the ground with a bag of soaked magic books serving as a marker. With a determined face, he looked forward. He would have to get used to looking forward, as it was the only path left to him as of this time on.

**_And, four months ago, Arthur Kirkland died and was reborn as 'England'._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Yep. Hope you enjoyed that huge serving of angst. Big shout-out to the mysterious Anon that's been commenting on my work, you da man/woman/dude.   
> Thanks for reading this chapter, I'll update soon with the next one. Until then? Stay awesome, sweethearts :)


	13. Abridgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the sequence of events thus far is summarized, and a first meeting is recounted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular font indicates the present.
> 
> Italic font indicates flashbacking.
> 
> Bold italic font indicates thought.
> 
> Bold regular font indicates writing/typing.

It had been thirteen days since the original Metropolitan Museum heist had taken place, catching New York completely off-guard and sending the NYPD spiraling into chaos. Why did the thief take the Ganymede artifacts in particular, when they obviously had the skill to steal more? How did they manage to get past the security and take the guarded items? Most importantly, who was responsible for sneaking in, robbing the museum, and slinking under the radar of both the NYPD and America, New York's famous superhero?

A week passed before photos taken from a Metropolitan Museum security camera were anonymously leaked onto the internet, photos that showed America was there at the time, and gave the world an appearance to associate with the criminal: a black tailcoat that swirled behind his frame like the feathers of a crow, a black mask with silver tree branches that entangled and entwined mesmerizingly, and a red Tudor rose that glowed in his lapel like blood. The source responsible for the images only used one word in the description:

' **England** '.

The name had taken the media by storm, as rumors began to spread and theories began to emerge from all corners of the internet. 'England'? Was this the criminal's official name, or was it made up? Was this person the real thief, or was it an imposter taking the credit for the original's work? By the thief taking the name 'England', did that mean that they were intending to become the enemy of America? Did America even know anything about this 'England' character?

It didn't help that America and the NYPD refused to relinquish information to the public, as it didn't help settle their questions and curiosities in the slightest. Why was the NYPD keeping silent about the whole affair? Was the NYPD forcing America to stay quiet? Wasn't it their job to inform people about criminals at large? What was the point of keeping a police force if they couldn't even stop a thief? If they were hiding information now, what other kinds of information did they hide before?

It was the decision made by the police to not reveal information about the Metropolitan heist that unwittingly set a domino-effect into motion. The more knowledge they hid, the more negative their image became. Everyone began to view the NYPD as a villain for deliberately keeping information classified when the public deserved to know about this 'England'. Everyone began to view America as a voiceless puppet, who, in any other situation, wouldn't have hesitated to tell the truth about the heist, but was having his freedom of speech restricted by the police.

Everyone began to view 'England' as a hero instead of a thief, as he was the one who showed how far the NYPD would go to preserve a semblance of their reputation, which was rapidly going down the drain.

Nine days after the heist, the New York Police Department finally relented and decided to hold a press conference at the NYU's School of Law, where they would answer questions relating to the heist, but not relating to 'England'. While America was there, he claimed he was unable to recall much information about the incident because of how suddenly the event had given him recognition, therefore rendering him mute in regards to 'England'. Because of the original stance the police had taken, no one was sure whether America was being honest or if it was another lie fed to him by the police so that he could remain quiet. The whole idea of the press conference sounded sketchy, again because of the original stance the NYPD had taken. Some viewed them as a group of individuals trying to apologize for their actions, while others viewed them as a group of cowards with their backs against the wall. The whole situation was being treated with varying forms of caution on all sides; the police because one misstep could result in their foundation being broken beyond repair, America because another mistake could result in serious repercussions later on, the public and media because some craved to ignore the wrongdoings of the NYPD while others wanted a coup d'état to overthrow the current police force.

However, the Metropolitan Museum heist was swept under the rug around the same time the press conference took place, as everyone's attention was caught by the circumstances of the America fiasco.

The same day the Metropolitan press conference occurred, America had left during the fifteen-minute intermission. However, photos relating to his disappearance were leaked onto the same website responsible for the original Metropolitan heist images, photos that revealed him kissing a man. News of this event spread rapidly throughout all forms of media, considering how rare it was for America to reveal personal information about himself. While the superhero had been working with the police for seven years, he was notorious for never giving away anything pertaining to his legitimate identity. Any knowledge of his would be worth weight in gold, as criminals of all kinds would want any help to escape his 'fists of justice'. He couldn't afford to slip up, no matter how big or small the information was.

Of course, the press jumped with the idea of finding someone who could possibly know the man behind the mask, uncaring of the repercussions of their actions if they ever did find out. To find the man America kissed was to find a potential link between America and who he really was, so everyone was determined to discover who it was he kissed. When confronted about it during the second half of the press conference, America claimed he had no idea who the person was, yet again making it difficult to determine whether the statement was true or false. So, what with the kiss happening in Washington State Park (the park in the same area where the conference took place), people flocked to the park and kept lookout for anyone resembling the mystery man seen in the pictures. It seemed that their curiosity wouldn't burn out until they got to the bottom of it.

That is, until the Metropolitan Museum went up in black smoke.

Two days ago, pictures revealing the Metropolitan Museum exuding black smoke had been leaked onto the same website responsible for the Metropolitan heist photos, England photos, and America fiasco photos. Like the Metropolitan heist, it caught New York off-guard and sent the NYPD spiraling into chaos, sweeping the America fiasco under the rug and redirecting everyone's attention back onto the police. Aside from the black smoke, there were only two differences between the past predicament and the current one:

'England' hadn't infiltrated the museum, and nothing had been stolen.

It was true; there were no pictures leaked onto the 'net (aside from those featuring the smoke), the security cameras showed no sign of 'England', and there were no missing artifacts.

However, the pictures pertaining to the smoke showed images of America and the NYPD in the background, serving as evidence that they were there. Though some held their doubts about the authenticity of the photos, others held their doubts about the authenticity of America's intentions. 'Is he as reliable as we've thought, or is he just as bad as the NYPD's been as of late?' 'How do we know he didn't just set up the situation to win back our trust?' 'What if this is all an elaborate plan to make himself and the NYPD look good again?'

Those were the questions asked in the newspapers, implied by reporters, and lurking in the internet. All over New York, quite possibly the world, people wondered about America and the NYPD's intentions; whether they were looking out for their civilians or for themselves, whether they could be trusted or not.

People could sense the tides of change coming their way, and only swallowed in nervousness and anticipation.

~ na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na~

To say that America was surprised when Vash told him they would be having another press conference was an understatement. The moment he heard that, he couldn't help but stare at the police officer as if he had grown two heads, his surprise evident even with his mask on.

"What's with that look?" Vash questioned, crossing his arms over his chest. "What, did you think that we'd just sit back and let this situation get even more out of hand?"

America blinked out of his daze. "A-ah, no," he said with a sheepish smile, embarrassment prevalent against what facial features of his were visible. "I-I'm just a bit shocked that we'd make a move so soon."

 _ **He's such a liar.**_  The officer thought with a roll of his eyes, opening the door to his police car and slipping into the driver's seat, turning the key in the ignition by the time the superhero sat beside him and put on his seatbelt. "Glad to hear you have confidence in our skills," he drawled sarcastically, pulling the car out of the NYPD parking lot and driving. "But after taking the current circumstances into observation, the Commissioner thought it would be best for us to make a move as quickly as possible."

"Wouldn't want another repeat of the first Metropolitan heist," America acknowledged, provoking a nod of agreement from Vash. "It was bad enough that the press bashed us once; to do it again under the same basic premise as the first would be humiliating."

Officer Zwingli snorted lightly, his green eyes narrowing the longer he dwelled on the topic. "That's for damn sure," he commented, keeping an eye out for where the second Metropolitan Museum press conference would be taking place. "Our support is going downhill again, just like the first time. If we take advantage of the situation by being honest from the start, I doubt it'll be as bad as before."

Silence enveloped the police car, unusual given America was in the car, of all people. The silence was broken after a minute by the sound of the officer sighing.

He hit the brakes of the vehicle when encountering a stoplight, and turned to face America.

"Listen," Vash began, drawing the hero out of his thoughts as he met his gaze. "I can tell something's been up with you since that night. What happened at the museum? As far as I know, 'O' went into the museum instead of you."

The superhero looked away with half-lidded eyes, his hands turning to fists at his sides. For a moment, he seemed at odds with himself, as if he was conflicted with whatever thoughts (if any) were going through his mind. "You're right," he murmured, glancing at his hands. Vash tried not to notice how there were small rips in the gloves, indicating that his grip had been so strong the night of the second Metropolitan incident that his fingernails cut through the fabric. "'O' did go into the museum in my place for the purpose of catching England off-guard, but still-"

The American stopped himself, running a hand through his blond locks out of exasperation. "I just—it sounds silly, but I feel hurt at how the media's been portraying me, lately."

The Department Chief glanced back to the road, pressing gently on the gas of the car when the light turned green. "Sometimes I forget that you're technically not part of the police," he admitted as he focused on driving, quirking another surprised look from the hero. "So you technically have nothing to lose when it comes to the press badmouthing you. But, considering you work alongside us, you should expect to get backlash from things you couldn't prevent."

America nodded, resting his back against his seat. "I know," he spoke, his head residing against the window. "I guess it goes to show how much I still have to learn."

 ** _Sometimes I forget that he started when he was in high school,_  **Vash thought with a grimace, turning the wheel in the direction of where they were going. Even though 'America' didn't reveal any information about himself at the time, it was easy to tell his age based on his gangly limbs and fluctuating voice. At least, it was easy for Vash to tell his age as he remembered what it was like experiencing the bitch that was puberty.  ** _I can't help but wonder what would make him want to become a hero, especially at so young of an age._**

His grip on the wheel tightened, his brow furrowing.  ** _Lilli's around the same age he started working as 'America'. She's fifteen, now. How is she fairing in Switzerland with my mother?_**

While it may have seemed he wore his trademark scowl, one would have noticed how that scowl was softer than it normally was given the person occupying his thoughts.

When his parents divorced several years ago, his father remained in the U.S while his mother moved to Switzerland, soon adopting a homeless girl from Lichtenstein named Lilli. In spite of the eleven-year age gap and an entire ocean between them, he had become very fond of her due to her innocence and kind heart, her gratefulness formed after years of hardship and living in the streets.

All the memories he had with her were happy ones filled to the brim with smiles and laughter (even if a majority of the smiles and laughter came from her). He lost count of how many times she thanked him whenever he let her keep an animal she found, how many pictures she asked him to draw because she thought they looked cute, how many clothes (even if they were rather girly in his opinion) she made because she knew how frugal he was.

Yet, because of the eleven-year age gap and an entire ocean between them, he didn't have many chances to visit her. He tried to Skype and message her at every opportunity, but it still didn't diminish the fact that, if something bad happened to her, it happened an ocean and several countries away.

 _ **I became a police officer so that I could prevent bad things from happening to people, and families from being torn apart,**_  he recalled, stopping the car and undoing his seatbelt when they arrived at the designated area for the conference. He cast a quick glance to America, noting how pale the skin visible from his mask was.  ** _Though I'm here separated from an important member of my family, while he's here probably because bad things happened to him._**

In a very, very weird way (that he would prefer to not dwell on given how weird it was), America kind of reminded him of Lilli. They shared a similar yearning to help, a similar wish to protect others, a similar need to disregard themselves for the sake of others.

Countless times, Lilli had extended her hand to people that didn't deserve to be helped, like America had. Countless times, Lilli had shown kindness to those who didn't deserve kindness, like America had. Not once had Vash seen either Lilli or America give up on someone, whether it was Lilli trying to bandage an injured animal, or America offering a criminal a second chance at a normal life.

 ** _They're both selfless in their own ways; it's a bit concerning,_**  Vash thought, locking up the car while keeping his eye on the masked American. He was unable to discern for the life of him what kind of thoughts (again, if any) were running through his mind at the moment. He could only assume they were bad based on his poorly-concealed facial expressions.  ** _I know that Lilli experienced hardship, which contributed to the way she is now. But what about America?_**

_Vash rubbed his temples to stave off an oncoming headache, having a bizarre feeling that he would be doing that a lot more often given the occupation he decided on. As the newest recruit in the police force (and the youngest at the age of twenty-one), he was assigned to the not-so-serious jobs like ticketing cars or patrolling the streets of New York._

_However, he didn't think that running after a lanky kid running after a purse-snatcher was in his current job description._

_Especially if that lanky kid was wearing red, white, and blue spandex, for crying out loud._

_**They had better pay me overtime for this,**  he internally groaned, giving the teenage boy another once-over as he was trying to determine the guy's sanity. Even though he had taken the purse-snatcher into captivity and took the kid into the police station until his parents could arrive, the kid refused to change out of his attire. No sane person dressed in red, white, and blue spandex and ran around trying to tackle purse-snatchers at eleven P.M, no matter how good of an idea it would seem at the time.  **I'm pretty sure he's either high or just stupid.**_

_"Listen, you've gotta believe me when I tell you that that guy stole an old woman's purse," the spandex-freak expressed, his eyes wide behind a white mask decorated with blue stars. He nearly whapped Vash's head from how many obscene hand gestures he was using, as he stood up and began reenacting the event. "He was all like, 'hand the purse over, granny!' and she was all like, 'oh noooo, someone help meeeee!'," he continued, oblivious to how badly the police officer was trying not to laugh. It was midnight and he hadn't had coffee, give him a break._

_"So I went over there and was all like, 'not on my watch, you dastardly fiend!', so I chased him and then you showed up and here we are!" He finished with a flourished wave, the sight almost making Vash break his poker face. Almost. "You okay, dude? You look like you're in pain."_

_"I'm appalled, that's all," Vash managed to say while maintaining a straight face, trying to think of serious things. Criminals. Violence. Death. Guns. Teenage boys with cracking voices prancing around with spandex. More guns. "Why did you think chasing after a mugger at eleven P.M wearing that was ever a good idea? You could have gotten hurt, hell, you could have gotten killed. So why did you decide to go after that guy?"_

_The boy faltered, probably confused at why Vash wasn't getting on his knees and praising him as a hero to New York city, or whatever the hell went through his mind as Vash's mind was still trying to get past the freakin' spandex. "Because a hero can't stand and watch while the good get hurt," he explained, catching the officer off-guard. "A hero always protects the innocent and delivers justice to the bad guys!"_

_A light eyebrow rose beneath Vash's officer cap. People still believed in that kind of stuff? Didn't this kid know that the world wasn't divided into simple sides like 'good' and 'evil'? That there were knights that broke the rules and pawns who betrayed?_

_"That's not really a valid answer," Vash deadpanned, the boy being the one to be caught off-guard now. "I'm asking why you personally decided to go after that guy. Don't give me some generic answer like 'heroes do this' and 'heroes do that'. What's your reason?"_

_Again, the boy faltered. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his gaze deepening for a moment._

_Inwardly, Vash grimaced. He had heard of this kind, before. The kind of people who couldn't differentiate fantasy from reality, the kind of people who become vigilantes for the sake of living a life out of a comic book, the kind of people who would gradually stop and take off their spandex outfits and paper masks when the realization of danger sunk in._

_**I'm not surprised,**  he thought, standing up from his seat and putting his hand on the boy's shoulder to bring some form of comfort to him.  **He is just a kid after all.**_

_What did surprise him was the look on the kid's face when he looked up. Beyond the white mask dotted with blue stars, he wore an expression of fear. Genuine fear swam in his eyes, practically swallowing him whole save for underlying sadness, underlying pain._

_"Because I couldn't stand and watch while the good got hurt," he answered, determination clear in his tone in spite of how badly his voice shook, his gaze unwavering and facing Vash directly. "Because I want to protect the innocent and bring justice to the bad guys."_

_Only once did police officer Vash Zwingli drop his poker face in the presence of this teenager, this boy who went out of his way to help someone even at the possible cost of his life. This kid who didn't have a police badge or a certificate from the police academy, who lacked a car or a gun, but made up for it in the resolve he possessed and willingness to change things._

_Only once did police officer Vash Zwingli pat the kid on the back, a wry smile playing against his features. "Okay," he chuckled, removing his hand and going to his desk. He removed a pen and poised it over a notepad. "What should I call you when you help us out here at the NYPD?"_

_The boy paused, blinking a few times in concentration. After a minute, a figurative light-bulb flashed over his head. "America!"_

_"America?" The officer repeated out loud, wondering why he would choose that for a superhero name. Did he want to be like Captain America or something? Perhaps he was a little too patriotic…_

_Apparently so, the teenager nodded. "America!" He exclaimed with a fist-pump. "God bless the land of the free!"_

_Vash rubbed his temples to stave off an oncoming headache, having a bizarre feeling that he would be doing that a lot more often given the occupation he decided on. Was it too late for him to move to Switzerland with his mother?_

"Hey," he called out before he could stop himself, wondering why his mouth decided to talk without his mind's consent at a time like this. The conference (which was taking place at the NYU's School of Law, like the first Metropolitan press conference had) was going to start in less than ten minutes, so why was he dilly-dallying when they could be making last-minute changes to their Commissioner-approved answers?

America looked back at him, and, for a moment, Vash thought he was back in his police office with a notepad scribbling ' **America** ' in messy handwriting around midnight. He had that same expression as before, a confusing mixture of fear, sadness, and pain.

"Hang in there, you got that America?"

For a moment, he saw a glimpse of that boy from before. The same surprise and shock intermingled, as he blinked to register what it was he said. This time was different, though. He wasn't some gangly teenager dressed in red, white, and blue spandex with a plastic mask, he was a superhero. He was New York's famous superhero, who showed extended his hand to those who didn't deserve help, who showed kindness to those who didn't deserve kindness, who never gave up on someone in spite of how far gone they were.

And, for a moment, America displayed a little bit of himself (not like Vash would ever admit it). He smiled a wry smile and nodded. "Got it, Department Chief Zwingli."

The officer decided to let his poker face fall just one more time, as he returned the expression and followed him inside.

**_Sometimes I forget that he started when he was in high school, but I guess it goes to show how much I still have left to learn._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed this chapter, though I apologize for how schmaltzy that ending was; I think I developed lactose-intolerance due to its cheesiness. Anyway, I'll update soon with the next chapter, so until then? Stay awesome.


	14. In Sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur catches a cold, and a stone begins to roll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular font indicates the present.
> 
> Italic font indicates flashbacking.
> 
> Bold italic font indicates thought.
> 
> Bold regular font indicates writing/typing.

If one thing could be said about Arthur Kirkland, it was that he was prideful as hell.

He had always been that way; if he ever scrapped his knees after falling off his bike (which didn't happen often as he rarely ventured outside), he would always stand up on his own regardless of how badly his skin was bleeding and bruised. If someone insulted him at school (which didn't happen often as he rarely socialized), he would always stand on his own and fight with his sharp tongue and sharper mind. If he was ever beaten at a game of chess (which had never happened as he always won at chess), it was to be assumed that he would assault his opponent with a barrage of strategical commentary until his enemy backed down or made a foolish move he could use to his advantage.

Which is why it pained him deeply, hurting more than any mortal wound and harsher than any insult, when Kiku confined him to bed yesterday.

_He had woken up with a heavy, painful feeling in the back of his throat, one that caused him to grimace whenever he swallowed. His arms and legs felt like chunks of lead stapled into a torso, numbed by goose bumps and the cold. Although his forehead was burning up, he was forced to cocoon himself in his blankets from how frozen the rest of his body felt._

_**It's probably nothing serious,**  Arthur managed to think in his heat-induced haze, as he dragged his feet over the edge of his bed and tried to stand up, violent coughing fits forcing him to sit back down again.  **Even if it is, I won't allow my body to stop me from my plans for today.**_

_A glance to his phone confirmed his suspicions; The New York Times had recently updated the schedule for the second Metropolitan Museum press conference, stating that it would start in less than thirty minutes at NYU's School of Law. Considering he hadn't been able to go to the first Metropolitan press conference, he wanted to go to the second one so that he could spy on America incognito._

_"Arthur-san?" Kiku's voice spoke through the door, making whatever blood present in Arthur's face drain. Whenever he got sick, the Japanese always went into a sort of maternity mode, which was both hilarious and disturbing every time he caught the flu or a cold. "Are you alright? It sounds like you're trying to cough up a lung."_

_"I-I'm fine, Kiku," Arthur assured, hoping that the Asian couldn't detect the hoarseness of his voice or the wavering of his tone. "I-I was just getting up so that I could go to the press conference-"_

_The word 'surprise' couldn't begin to describe what he felt when the door busted open, leaving Kiku standing in its wake armed with a surgical mask, rubber gloves, and an entire box worth of medicines and ointments underneath his arm._

_He pointed a gloved hand towards the box he carried, and pointed to Arthur with 'no-nonsense' clearly written in his expression._

_Arthur swallowed-grimacing again when he did so-in nervousness and fear of the things soon to come._

That had all happened yesterday. He had missed the press conference because his body just had to go off and get sick, causing him to stay in bed with Kiku fretting over him like a child. And he still hadn't gotten any better.

 _ **This is so humiliating,**_  the Brit thought distastefully, hating how cold the plastic tip of the thermometer felt against the underside of his tongue. He inwardly cringed when he removed the thermometer and checked the temperature. 38 degrees Celsius/100.4 degrees Fahrenheit stared back at him on the digital screen.  ** _I'm a twenty-two year old man who is both a thief and an enemy of the NYPD, but I'm rendered helpless because of being sick?_**

The Japanese glanced at the temperature and shook his head, 'tsk'ing all the while. "You still have a fever," he informed, standing up so that he could wash the thermometer off in the Englishman's bathroom. "So I'm afraid you haven't recovered, Arthur-san."

The blond groaned, holding his head in his hands. "This is the second time I've been unable to go the press conference," he mumbled, removing his hands and staring out his bedside window to observe what was going on down below. This time yesterday, people were gathering around the School of Law, varying from newspaper reporters to college students whose classes required them to attend the event. He had seen them all loiter around aimlessly until police officials allowed them inside, to where America and all his superiors were-! "How am I supposed to observe my enemy's movements outside of my England guise without going to their publicity stunts?"

Kiku rolled his eyes, returning to Arthur's bedside and applying a cold towel to his forehead, sending goose bumps trailing up his body. "No need to be so dramatic," he lightly chided, laughing when he earned a non-threatening glare from his English roommate. "It's likely that reporters have posted what happened on the internet, so you only need to look online to see what you missed."

"Yes," Arthur nodded, pressing the towel into his face with the palm of his head, a moan of pleasure escaping his raw throat given how good the cold felt against his heated skin. "But still…"

 _ **It's one thing to see America and the NYPD as England,**_  he reflected, his brow furrowing with every second he spent dwelling on the subject.  ** _But it's another thing to see America and the NYPD without them knowing who I am. It's more personal that way; a sense of surrealism that they can't touch you._**

He shrugged on the inside when taking the events of the first conference into consideration.  _ **It was probably for the best that I didn't show up; America would have recognized me from before and wouldn't have let the kiss go unnoticed.**_

"As your partner-in-crime, roommate, and friend, I refuse to let you wander around when you're still weakened," the Japanese reminded, provoking another groan from the Brit. He ignored the negative reaction from the blond, instead piling another blanket onto his shivering form. "How do you expect to defeat America and the NYPD if you can barely leave your bed?"

A low grumble protruded beneath the blankets, quirking another small laugh from Kiku. "If it'll help you out, I'll get Alfred-san to come over and take care of you~"

The Asian could faintly register the Brit's head shaking in disagreement beneath the covers. "Don't you dare," Arthur coughed out, hating how scratchy his voice sounded to his own ears. "I wouldn't want him to see me like this."

The Englishman could practically see his roommate smirk. "I doubt he'd think differently of you simply because you're ill," Kiku acknowledged, his voice muffled because of the fabric covering Arthur's ears. "If anything, your love 'o meter will skyrocket thanks to him taking care of you~"

"S-shut up," the blond retorted half-heartedly, burying his face in his pillows in a futile attempt to hide how badly he was blushing. "I don't need help to get better; I'm perfectly fine taking care of myself."

To be honest, he had no idea where that pride kink in his personality came from; it was a ridiculous notion to assume that things like 'pride' were genetic. If that were the case, it couldn't have been from his parents because they knew when it was better to let go and move on, considering they had to relinquish a lot of pride in order to move from England to the United States. While it was a more reasonable idea to assume it took shape from the people he was surrounded by, it couldn't have been from Kiku because he understood when pride acted as a sword more than a shield, and it couldn't have been from Alfred as even he was aware of the difference between self-esteem and arrogance.

He couldn't help it, though. He assumed that, if his dealings with self-esteem/arrogance could have come from any source, it would have come from no one from himself and the situations he faced.

 _ **When everything started crumbling around me, my pride was the only thing that kept me together,**  _Arthur thought, his eyes growing half-lidded against his pillow sheets, his grip on his blankets tightening until his knuckles turned white.  ** _While Alfred helped me at every opportunity, there were certain things I had no choice but to keep him in the dark about. Another reason why I can't afford for him to see me like this._**

"Hello, Alfred-san? It's Kiku."

That voice jolted him out of his thoughts as if his brain was struck by electricity.

The Briton lunged from beneath his covers, his face burning bright at the prospect of what might happen, his nerves twisting into knots over and over again. His Japanese roommate was a good distance away from him, his iphone held to his ear with a mischievous grin etched onto his features.

"I'm sorry to intrude on you so suddenly, but it's relating to Arthur-san," he notified over the phone, dodging a pillow that Arthur threw with ease. For a person whose immune system had been rendered weak due to a childhood spent inside and was currently fighting a fever, he had surprisingly good aim. "He's been sick for the past two days and I need to run a few errands. Could you please drop by and keep an eye on him until I return?"

The brunette continued to dodge, duck, dip, dive, and dodge the pillows the blond was bombarding him with, all the while keeping the phone pressed to his ear as he replied accordingly. "Ah, yes. Please excuse the noise in the background, it's nothing to worry about. Yes, I'll see you soon, Alfred-san."

He hung up and glanced at the exhausted Englishman, who was trying to steady his breathing and rubbing at his sore arms. "He'll be here shortly."

Arthur collapsed into his pile of pillows, groaning a third time as he covered his face. "Why would you do that, Kiku? What errands do you need to run?"

"Technically, they're errands for Japan," Kiku replied, resulting in the flustered Brit to look up from his hands to his accomplice. "After you've watched all the footage and read all the articles pertaining to the second metropolitan conference, we'll need to create a plan of attack on the off-chance that America and the NYPD reclaim their positive image. Until then, I'll scope out the surrounding areas for potential museums to 'visit'."

'England' nodded in agreement, grabbing his phone so that he could read the articles and watch the videos sooner. "Right. I'll make sure to do so when Alfred isn't around."

'Japan' smiled a miniscule amount when he heard a knock emit from the door of their dorm. "That must be him. As difficult as it will be, you must behave yourself, Arthur-san~"

For reasons other than a fever, the Briton blushed to the tips of his ears. "J-just go, already!"

~ na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na~

Yesterday sucked.

There was no point in denying it.

Alfred expected for the press and public to be pissed off at him for the Metropolitan Museum going up in black smoke; it was a situation they felt he could have prevented (which he could if he had simply gone in 'O's place, though he had no idea what might have happened then), so he anticipated for them to be at least a little upset.

Sadly, Alfred was never good at predicting people's methods of thinking, unlike Arthur.

_"Let's review what's happened so far," Vash said before the press conference was to start, as Alfred listened in. "Even though you tracked England's location down and we secured the perimeter, pictures still got out of the museum going up in smoke. Because of the fact that England didn't appear on the security cameras, the guards were knocked out with the same substance as before, and the jewelry was still there, people assume that you tried to reclaim your reputation as a hero by sending the police to a location where you knew England had struck before, knocking out and tying up the guards, and setting up a smoke bomb to make it look like England was there but he got away before you could catch him. In other words-"_

_"I screwed up," Alfred finished, facepalming. "I screwed up big time. How did they come to assume that it was me, again?"_

_"They've based it on our actions from before," the Department Chief admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Because of what we did to maintain our public image, our relationships with the public and media have been strained to say the least. The public felt like they deserved to know about a criminal on the loose and started wondering what other kinds of information we've hidden from them. The press took advantage of the people's emotions by publishing more slander directed towards us, increasing their influence on civilians and their profits in one move. Because of our past decisions, not everyone views the NYPD as a force for justice and you as a hero. To answer your question, they assume it was you because they want someone to pin the blame on, someone that they used to consider as New York's golden boy, someone who they already harbor dislike towards as you represent the police."_

_"And nobody wants to think England was actually there because so much of the media considers him a hero," the American divulged, his skin pale beneath his mask, his hands tightly clenched into fists at his sides. He really needed to repair his gloves. "That he's a savior for showing the world what the NYPD and I will do to keep us in everyone's favor."_

_**Disgusting,**  he thought, biting his lip to give him a semblance of feeling save for the twisting of his stomach.  **He baited me to make a move without considering the consequences and I took it! It doesn't matter whether we show the video he sent us on the night of the second heist; they'll think it's a fake to reinstate their trust.**_

_His gaze hardened behind his mask when remembering his words, his message designed to evoke pathos and make him run amuck with unadulterated anger. While it was better to have Oya infiltrate the premise and catch England by surprise, that was a one-time trump card. No doubt that England would prepare himself in case it happened again._

_All in all, he had achieved nothing except cause unnecessary suffering for the NYPD, make England look like a hero, and himself like a fool._

**_He is truly…despicable._ **

_"-erica? America!" Vash shouted, making the American nearly jump from where they stood backstage. "I said to keep calm, okay? Regardless of whether the public or press will like it, you know the truth about what happened that night. Don't let that truth be tainted by their ignorance, you got that?"_

_Alfred nodded, the weight of his head feeling as heavy as the weight in his heart. No matter what, he had to do this. He couldn't sit back and let England achieve his goal (if any) without a fight._

_They were in this mess because of his incompetence; he drew this double-sided sword, now it was time for him to attack._

Needless to say, yesterday sucked.

Regardless of how many times he tried to convince them otherwise, the reporters and audience members asked him questions relating to his failure, all with the same unrelenting vigor one would expect from a pack of vicious carnivores. 'Did you really think that England would strike the same place twice, or did you use that to your advantage by re-creating a crime?', 'What did you hope to gain from knocking out the guards, tying them up, and releasing a smoke bomb in the first place?', 'Was the police in on this sham of yours to reenact the first Metropolitan heist, or did you use them like they've used you?'.

With all that in mind, Alfred's mood brightened up when he heard his phone go off ('I'm Proud to be an American' by Lee Greenwood, unlike his superhero phone that played 'Hero' by Nickelback) and the caller I.D revealed it to be Kiku.

"Hey, Kiku," he greeted after a moment, one hand holding his phone to his ear while his other hand dried his hair with a towel as he had just come out of the shower. The bespectacled blond set his phone on speaker as he shuffled through his drawers for something to wear. "How's it going over there?"

"I'm sorry to intrude on you so suddenly, but it's relating to Arthur-san," the Japanese confessed, making Alfred's heart tighten in his chest while numerous scenarios ran through his mind. What if he got hurt? Was whatever happened so bad that Kiku had to call in Arthur's place? "He's been sick for the past two days and I need to run a few errands. Could you please drop by and keep an eye on him until I return?"

A sigh of relief escaped from the American as the panic in his system vanished. "Thank God," he laughed, scratching his head from embarrassment. "I thought something terrible happened to him. Sure, I'll be there shortly."

He registered what sounded like a pillow colliding with a rolling chair, quirking a light eyebrow to rise against his forehead. "Uh, everything okay over there?"

"Ah, yes. Please excuse the noise in the background, it's nothing to worry about. Yes, I'll see you soon, Alfred-san."

His confused expression only deepened when the Asian immediately hung up. But, he decided it'd probably be best to get going as quickly as possible, as Kiku was probably being pelted with pillows at the moment. That sort of thing tended to happen whenever someone tried helping Arthur when he wasn't feeling well.

 _ **He always gets all flustered when someone tries to lend him a hand when he's sick,**  _Alfred thought with a small smile, that smile turning to a slight grimace when remembering being on the receiving end of his pillow-ammunition. For a person whose immune system had been rendered weak due to a childhood spent inside and was currently fighting a fever, he had surprisingly good aim.  ** _It's kind of cute._**

Whatever color present in his face increased tenfold when realizing his thoughts, as he shook his head in an attempt to dissuade said thoughts and opened the door to his dorm.

 _ **No, no, no,**_  he addressed internally, heading down the stairs to Arthur and Kiku's dorm, mistaking the rapid beating of his heart and the flushing of his cheeks for the speed in which he was traveling.  _ **Friends don't think of each other like that, especially close friends!**_

The American didn't realize he had arrived at the dorm until he felt his knuckles knock against the wood. He soon regretted the speed in which he left his dorm, his eyes growing wide behind his glasses as the fact sunk in that he'd have to take care of Arthur with things like feeding him or possibly bathing him-!

He found difficulty swallowing when the thought of Arthur, with cheeks awash in red and half-lidded eyes, crossed his mind.

_He didn't realize his fists had clenched on the railway until he felt a gentle squeeze from someone's hand force his grip to relax, his bespectacled sapphire eyes encountering seemingly-endless pools of emerald staring at him. Arthur's eyes were no longer hidden behind sunglasses, instead uncovered and reflecting the red and orange of the setting sun, wide with worry and uncertainty._

_The tall blond wondered if Arthur's touch was always so comforting, if it was possible to drown in the deepness of someone's expressions, and if it was natural for his heart to race so fast in his chest._

_Alfred brushed some strands of messy blond hair out of Arthur's face, curious as to how/when the distance between them diminished so much._

_He didn't realize he had cupped the Briton's cheek until he felt his fingertips skim the boy's cheek._

_At this point, all Alfred knew was warmth. The warmth of the diminishing sun, the warmth of Arthur's cheeks, the warmth of his own heart beating wildly within his chest cavity. He couldn't speak, he couldn't phrase anything into words, and the only thing he could think was one sentence:_

**_More than anything, I want him to be happy because I-_ **

Once more, he shook his head in an attempt to dissuade his thoughts and stepped inside when the door opened, wearing a smile to not concern Kiku as the Asian stepped into the hall to leave, and to mask how badly his heart was tugging in his chest cavity.

"He took some Tylenol yesterday to help diminish his fever, but it only kicked in when he went to sleep," the brunette explained, handing him a list of what had happened so far in case he forgot. "He hasn't taken any more today because he's convinced the medicine's still working on his immune system, so make him take some more if his conditions worsen. In the worst-case scenario, don't hesitate to call a doctor."

Alfred nodded, accepting the paper and storing it in his pocket. "Got it," he beamed, saluting the Japanese enthusiastically to conceal how much he hoped the worse-case scenario wouldn't happen. "You can count on me!"

His aura of confidence vanished when the door closed, leaving an aura of nervousness in its wake. More than anything, he didn't want to experience another big screw-up like he had with the NYPD as America, especially if it involved Arthur's well-being.

 _ **While I know it's silly to be over exaggerating over something like a fever, I can't help but feel scared I'll make some kind of mistake,**  _Alfred mentally confided, grabbing the bottle of Tylenol and walking to Arthur's bedroom.  _ **It seems like I've done nothing but make mistakes, mistakes that have cost others dearly. I wouldn't want to see someone like Arthur experience unnecessary hardship or unnecessary pain because of me. I…don't know if I'd be able to bear it if that happened.**_

"Alfred? You've been staring into space for a while now, are you alright?" That voice, that same voice that reached out to him from behind a door all those years ago, interrupted his train of thought.

The bespectacled blond blinked, registering the sight of Arthur clad in blankets on his bed, a sheepish smile overcoming his features as he scratched his head.

"Sorry about that, just thinking's all," he reassured with a wave of his hand, setting the Tylenol bottle on the Brit's bedside table. "So you got sick again, huh? What'd you do this time?"

All the color temporarily drained out of the boy's face. Temporarily.

"Stood out in the rain, nothing more," he huffed, provoking a 'oh really' look to overtake the American's facial features. "But you know how weak my immune system is; apparently my body can't take longer than twenty minutes."

"What were you doing that required you to stand in the rain for at least twenty minutes?" Alfred wondered out loud, glancing outside to check on the current weather status and missing the sad look that adorned Arthur's face for a split-second. "I doubt you were singing."

"As a matter of fact, I was," Arthur proclaimed, making Alfred double-over in laughter. "I was! It was raining, I was in New York over by Broadway, I couldn't help myself!"

"S-so you mean to tell me," Alfred managed to say, wiping a tear from his eye as he redirected his gaze to his sick friend with a genuine smile lighting up his features. "That you happened to be over by Broadway while it was raining, so you decided to sing in the rain?"

Arthur looked him with a serious expression. "Yes."

Alfred proceeded to hold his stomach as his laughter became too painful for him to endure sitting up straight (or slouched-over, as Arthur always nagged him about sitting up straight instead of hunched over all the time). "Y-you," he started, his face hurting from how badly he was smiling. "Y-you are the geekiest guy I've known by far."

Once more, he missed an expression cross the Brit's features. A brief look of happiness that lasted as quickly as it left.

"Seriously though, how'd you end up sick so suddenly?" Alfred asked when his laughter died down, his eyes bright as he rested his hand on his cheek, his curiosity increasing when noting how the Briton played with his fingers to avoid having to meet his gaze. "Allergies or something?"

"Yes," Arthur responded, his brow furrowing slightly. "Allergies. Don't worry about it."

He reached over and ruffled the blond's locks, relishing the indignant squawk that emitted from the boy. "As long as you're okay, okay?"

"Stop flirting with me, Jones," the Englishman rolled his eyes, a slight grin playing against his cheekbones. "Be grateful that I'm not shoving a pillow in your face."

The American cascaded a glance to the pillows currently surrounding the Brit, swallowing in mock-nervousness. "Yeah, those pillows of yours are weapons of mass destruction."

"Be afraid!" Arthur exclaimed (or as well as one can exclaim with a sore throat) as he held a pillow over his head like he was preparing to strike Alfred down, his face scrunched up in a way that he probably thought looked intimidating when it was really as intimidating as an kitten. "Be very afraid!"

Alfred laughed again, scooting his chair away from the blond's bedside with his hands in surrender. "Spare me, please," he joked, sprawling dramatically against the back of his chair when Arthur's pillow hit him squarely in the chest. He extended his hand outwards as he pretended to sputter and cough. "R-rose…bud."

Arthur rolled his eyes again, covering his mouth with his hands in vain efforts at hiding his grin. "Your acting is as terrible as your English, Jones."

"You just jelly, again."

"I'd rather be Nutella, thank you."

"D-did you just-?"

"Yes."

Neither of them could maintain a poker face for much longer, as they proceeded to laugh again. Alfred had never been able to really hold a poker face against Arthur, or anyone else really. The only one who he'd been able to maintain an appearance of steel with was England, but England was a…different case.

England was a walking contradiction that was for sure; sometimes, his plans felt elaborate and well thought-out, while other times they felt simple and improvised. Sometimes, his actions were easy-to-read -Alfred able to anticipate his responses with ease- but sometimes his actions caught him completely off-guard as he struggled to grasp with what just happened.

What really got to him were England's methods of thinking. He couldn't even begin to fathom what went on in his mind! Whenever he tried to get a grasp on what went through his head, England went off and did something that contradicted what he previously assumed and slipped through his fingers like water.

His actions were calculable but his mindset was not, making him the worst type of enemy: an unpredictable one.

That epiphany came to him when he and Arthur were watching 'The Dark Knight' together on the Brit's laptop, as Arthur had never seen the movie before and agreed to watch it if Alfred watched a few episodes of 'Black Butler'. That epiphany came to him when he was watching the movie and he heard a monologue from the Joker that didn't seem too big of a deal before, but now startled him:

"'Don't talk like one of them. You're not! Even if you'd like to be. To them, you're just a freak, like me! They need you right now, but when they don't, they'll cast you out, like a leper! You see, their morals, their code, it's a bad joke. Dropped at the first sign of trouble. They're only as good as the world allows them to be. I'll show you. When the chips are down, these... these civilized people, they'll eat each other. See, I'm not a monster. I'm just ahead of the curve.'"

Once more, he found himself unable to maintain a poker face when Arthur suddenly turned off the movie shortly after that monologue was spoken, surprise and shock clearly visible against his facial features as he blinked to register how pale both he and Arthur had become.

"I-I took that Tylenol earlier," the Brit yawned, his skin still pale for unbeknownst reasoning. "S-so I'm feeling kind of tired."

Alfred smiled weakly and released a breath he had no idea he was holding. "Right," he agreed, closing the laptop and putting it on the blond's bedside table after unplugging it. "How are you feeling?"

"I can talk, at least," the British boy informed, rubbing his throat carefully. "And I'm not in as much pain as before."

"That's good to hear," Alfred replied, fluffing up the pillows and covering the Englishman's form with blankets when he rested his back against the headboard. He tried his best to ignore how Arthur's light locks shimmered like gold in the faint moonlight, or how his eyes glowed like emeralds amongst the shadows of the room. "See? It's not too hard when people help you out."

Arthur pretended to pout, crossing his arms over his chest and prompting the American to laugh.

"I'm glad," he yawned when Alfred's laughter died down, his hands now folded in his lap as he looked out the window with drowsy eyes. "I'm very glad."

Alfred's smile still lingered, his eyes bright as he rested his hand on his cheek, looking out the window in vain efforts to find where it was Arthur was looking. He couldn't help but wonder why his line-of-sight trailed in the same direction as the Bronx. "What for?"

There was smile, again. The same smile that made the Englishman look far older and wiser than he actually was, though it was much softer than its predecessor was; happier, bathed in the lull of sleepiness, and tinted with another emotion he was unable to place. "When you walked in here, you kind of…scared me. You were quiet and sad even though I was right here, and I was worried about you."

"S-sorry about that," Alfred apologized, guilt eating at his senses. He had scared him? Caused him to worry? But he said he was glad, so what was the problem? "I-I was just thinking, like I said before."

"I know." Arthur gazed back at him, and the world seemed to dull in comparison. While he had seen that strange smile a handful of times, it was with him staring into space. He had never been on the receiving end of that look, before.

It was…beautiful.

He yawned again, his eyelashes fluttering against his skin as he closed his eyes. "I'm very glad that I can still make you smile."

Alfred's eyes grew wide behind his glasses as he continued to stare at the male, even though it was obvious he was in a medicine-induced sleep. He couldn't stop himself from observing the Brit's relaxed features, from the gentle rise and fall of his chest to the lethargic grin residing against his expression and pulling at the American's heartstrings. All the while, his mind kept playing that last sentence throughout his brain like a record player stuck on repeat:

_"I'm very glad that I can still make you smile."_

He couldn't even begin to describe the warm sensation blooming in his chest, causing his pulse to thunder in his wrists and his blood to pound in his ears. It felt like the thing he'd experienced back at the Bow Bridge, when it was sunset and everything was so comforting and he almost-

Alfred must have caught Arthur's fever for feeling these bizarre bouts of conflicting emotion, for feeling this bizarre blur between his wants and needs, for these contradictions between his mind and heart.

Alfred most likely caught Arthur's fever; that would be the only explanation for him leaning down and kissing him in his sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: The stone has been disturbed, and begins its descent; only time will tell to what actions may arise, and what ending may come to fruition as a result of its momentum.


	15. 'Russia'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an opportunity arises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular font indicates the present.
> 
> Italic font indicates flashbacking or dreaming; whether it's a flashback or a dream will be clarified.
> 
> Bold italic font indicates thought.
> 
> Bold regular font indicates writing/typing.

When Arthur woke up the next morning, he could tell that something was wrong.

It couldn't have been from his sickness; if anything, his fever had diminished and he could speak much better than yesterday. His surroundings were essentially the same, what with his laptop perched on his bedside table and the medicine bottles lining his shelves. As far as he could tell, everything seemed fine. Yet, in spite of it all, he couldn't dismiss the lingering suspicion gnawing at his senses.

 _ **Perhaps something to do with Alfred,**_  Arthur internally noted as he (reluctantly) stuck a thermometer under his tongue, wincing at the cold metal pressed to the bottom of his mouth. He cascaded his gaze towards the empty chair positioned beside his bed, his brow furrowing at the unusual sight.  ** _Whenever I got sick, he always stayed by my side until I got better, regardless of how much I pestered him to go home. He's never left early before, so why would he leave now?_**

A 'beep' from the thermometer interrupted his thoughts, as Arthur removed the item and looked at the temperature. 37.3 degrees Celsius/99.2 degrees Fahrenheit stared back at him on the digital screen; hopefully, his temperature would meet Kiku's standards and allow him to finally leave his apartment after three days of rest.

The Briton stood up and stretched, relishing how his toes curled and his muscles burned at the unfamiliar movement, as he walked over to the restroom and stripped for a shower.

 _ **I only remember up to the Joker scene in 'The Dark Knight' movie,**_  he thought as his blond locks turned brown under the water, a pleased sigh escaping his mouth at the sensation of warm water easing his tense shoulders and upper back.  _ **Other than that, the events of last night are a Tylenol-induced blur.**_

_"Don't talk like one of them. You're not! Even if you'd like to be. To them, you're just a freak, like me! They need you right now, but when they don't, they'll cast you out, like a leper! You see, their morals, their code, it's a bad joke. Dropped at the first sign of trouble. They're only as good as the world allows them to be. I'll show you. When the chips are down, these... these civilized people, they'll eat each other. See, I'm not a monster. I'm just ahead of the curve."_

Just the thought of that quote sent shivers down his spine.

Never in his life did he imagine he would find someone who summed up his ideas in a single monologue, much less someone like the Joker from the Batman franchise. He tried his best to contain his joy at the concept of someone understanding him, and yet he couldn't contain how pale he had become as Alfred was beside him. If he showed his happiness, that would only make him look suspicious in the eyes of his friend; the logical response at the time was to let him appear horrified at the monologue as opposed to thrilled.

He couldn't understand why Alfred became so pale at the quote, considering the American had probably seen the movie a million times. Yet another thing he couldn't discern for the life of him, Arthur supposed.

 _ **I vaguely remember Alfred and I talking about something, though I can't remember what it was,**_  the Brit continued to think as he tended to his bathing ritual, turning off the water and stepping out of the shower when he finished. He took a towel and wrapped it around his waist, using a hand-towel to dry his hair.  _ **After that, I think I fell asleep. All I could remember from that was this strange dream I had-**_

His train of thought derailed there, replaced by his face draining of color and the feeling of his blood turning to ice in his veins. Arthur grabbed a clean set of clothes and changed in an attempt to dissuade his mind. However, as his grip on the fabrics became shaky, it became clear that such wishes were fruitless ones.

_The area was silent, save for the gentle pitter-patter of rain colliding with the concrete sidewalks. The cloudy skies overcast the area, bathing its surroundings in shadows and varying shades of black. The street was vacant, save for the Englishman currently defying the current color scheme by carrying a green umbrella over his head, and breaking the silence by singing 'London Bridge' under his breath._

_"-Build it up with silver and gold, silver and gold, silver and gold," he murmured, casting a glance towards the sky as he extended a hand, catching a few raindrops in his palm. A soft smile enveloped his features considering he tried to catch the rain in his hands quite often when he was a child living in England, where there were more rainy days than sunny ones. "Build it up with silver and gold, my fair lady."_

_He continued his walk, too caught up in his song to register the sound of footsteps trailing behind him._

_"Silver and gold will be stolen away, stolen away, stolen away," the blond sang as he retracted his hand and kept a firm grip on the handle of his umbrella, swaying a bit with the nursery rhyme, oblivious of the steadily-increasing sound of footsteps echoing closer and closer. "Silver and gold will be stolen away, my fair lady-"_

_Arthur stopped, in both the song and in his movements, when a pair of arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him close, forcing him to drop his umbrella as his back collided with a solid chest before he could react._

_"Ello, love."_

**_Shit._ **

_That was all he could think before he was spun around and kissed, barely registering the sight of America over the obscurity of the situation. Even so, he couldn't help but melt a little into the kiss, as it was surprisingly comforting and their mouths seemed to fit perfectly together-_

_The kiss ended as soon as it began, leaving the Brit dazed and confused on his feet. He stepped back after a moment, his hands turning to fists at his sides as he glared at his American nemesis, unable to explain why his palms were sweaty and his heart was racing within his chest._

_America only smirked, causing Arthur's blood to boil. "A fitting part of the song for someone like you, 'England'."_

The Briton rested his face in his hands, recalling how he had woken up shortly after America said that in his dream. He had woken up in a cold sweat, completely alone in the darkness of his room, and was unable to stop touching his mouth as he could have sworn something felt off. Something about the kiss felt so real, it was disorienting. Although the likeliness of him actually being kissed in his sleep was practically non-existent, his lips still tingled with the dream-induced foreign sensation. At first, he felt embarrassed that he dreamt of America kissing him, of all people. But then, he grew curious as to why he dreamt of America kissing him, of all people.

At the time, he assumed it was probably because he made the mistake of kissing America in the past, and the answer was good enough to lull him to sleep again. But now, the notion didn't deter the paleness of his skin or the shakiness of his limbs in the slightest.

Now that he thought about it, that obscure dream was probably the source of his lingering suspicions instead of Alfred leaving early.

A small sigh escaped him as he sat up and grabbed his phone, opening up internet tabs relating to articles of the second Metropolitan press conference with one hand, and getting ahold of his laptop with his other hand.

 _ **Listen to me, wasting precious time thinking about a kiss that didn't even happen when I have more important matters to deal with,**_  the Englishman thought with a frown, as he accessed internet tabs dedicated to video footage from the second conference on his laptop, his mouse feverishly clicking away to gather as many varying resources as possible.  ** _I can't let something like that distract me from what I need to do. I won't stop until all the tasks at hand have been cleared._**

While the video footage was loading, he opened up one last tab for the Ailateh portion of the Ayuramih website to check on the status of his stolen artifacts, his green eyes scanning over the screen to check for anything he missed. Surprise overtook his features when he saw a notification in his message box. With a shrug of his shoulders, he clicked on the message and pressed play on the video footage so that he could listen to the audio while he read the notification.

"-In regards to the second Metropolitan Museum incident-"

**Subject: Unknown**

**From: Russia**

**Привет, England.**

"-Rest assured that I, America, had no intention of re-establishing myself or the New York Police Department's reputation in any way, shape, or form, by attempting to capture the thief known as 'England'-"

**You have become quite famous in the past few weeks, да?**

"-However, I do intend to bring him to justice for the crimes he's committed, for the sake of New York City and its civilians."

**Quite remarkable how quickly news can spread in this day and age; it has the potential to be both a blessing and a curse, depending on who uses it.**

"Did you really think that England would strike the same place twice, or did you use that to your advantage by re-creating a crime?"

"What did you hope to gain from knocking out the guards, tying them up, and releasing a smoke bomb in the first place?"

"Was the police in on this sham of yours to reenact the first Metropolitan heist, or did you use them like they've used you?"

**Allow me to get to the point: I would like to meet you, England.**

"The NYPD and I received a message from England around 8:29 P.M on the night of the second Metropolitan heist three days ago, which gave us clues in regards to where he would strike next-"

**Not through a computer screen, but face-to-face.**

"We deduced that he would return to the Metropolitan Museum of Art as he did on the first of June, and, after investigating the premise, discovered the security night guards bound and gagged. Inside sources informed us that England was at the museum and used a smoke bomb to escape."

**While we are criminals, we shouldn't have to hide behind aliases and façades. We are civilized gentlemen, capable of conducting conversations beyond websites like 'Ayuramih' and 'Ailateh'.**

"How does that explain the fact that he didn't show up on the cameras and no artifacts were stolen?"

**Have no fear, England; do not feel pressured to show your face or reveal your identity.**

"The NYPD is investigating all the cameras and artifacts in the section where England was spotted; they will report their findings in due time."

**I only ask that we meet in person so that we may discuss a potential business partnership I have devised, one that will benefit the both of us.**

"How do we know this isn't just a hoax to get the public's opinion in your favor?"

**If you are interested in my proposition, please open the document attached to this message, which will specify the date, time, and location of the meeting. It will also specify on what items (if any) to bring.**

"Because the NYPD and I know the truth; and that truth cannot be tainted regardless of whatever happens. And I, America, will not stand idly by and watch as crime runs amuck in our city, as families are ripped apart and lives are destroyed, as the innocent and weak are crushed by the wicked and the strong!"

**It's your move now, England.**

"It's your move now, England."

Arthur stared at his computer screen, his eyes wide as he contemplated the current situation at hand. He minimized the screen so that he could view Russia's message and the conference video simultaneously. The video had ended with a shot of America from an iphone, seriousness present in all aspects of the hero's appearance from the straightness of his posture to the clenching of his fists. To be honest, the image had majorly caught the Brit off-guard.

In the four months 'England' had existed, Arthur had maneuvered it so that his crimes weren't high-profile ones. He had to create a reputation for himself as a criminal, otherwise, if he committed crimes like the Metropolitan heist on his first try, it would look like he was taking the credit for someone else's work. And yet, even though his acts weren't worthy of the responses he was getting with the Metropolitan incidents, America had still showed up and tried to stop him.

Every time, one way or another, America had never failed to worm his way into Arthur's plans, and he always did it with the same '100% American' smile and 'I'M THE HERO' attitude. There had been less than a handful of times where a retort had gone a little too far and America had lost his cool, but it had never been to the point where America looked so determined to bring him down like he had on the iphone image.

Surely, this was the turning point in this game of chess; as of right now, he could easily turn around, drop the England guise, and let the persona wither out and die before things got out of hand. If he made that move, he could live the rest of his life devoid of the troubles one would associate with America and the NYPD. He had planned on attaining his Master's Degree at NYU when the semester started in the fall. After that, there was a world of possibilities open for him.

However, he could continue forward just as easily. He could read Russia's attached document and proceed based on its contents, and walk down the path with 'Japan' as his shield and 'England' as his sword. He could avenge his parents' deaths by bringing shame to America and dissolution to the NYPD, create a new police force devoid of the hypocrisy and corruption that ripped his family apart, and in turn, make New York a place where he and Alfred could live happily.

If he was caught, then everything would have been for naught. His future would reside in a prison cell, Kiku would probably meet the same fate, his parents' deaths would have been for nothing, he would never see Alfred again, and the world would know no change. The same people would benefit from standing on the heads of those they took advantage of, and the same people would cheer them on. An endless cycle of hate with no beginning or end, only continuation.

Arthur cast his gaze towards his 'England' mask resting next to him on his bed, the sunlight making the silver tree branches shimmer and the black fabric strands look like liquid ebony. His eyes grew half-lidded at the sight. How long would he continue to live like this, slinking around in the darkness with his brain as his only weapon? How far would he have to go to keep anyone from finding out the truth? How many lies would he have to tell to Alfred?

The idea of lying to Alfred pained him deeply, hurting more than any mortal wound and harsher than any insult. Alfred believed in him as much as America believed in the NYPD. If Alfred ever found out-

He swallowed, not wanting to even imagine it. And yet his resolve tightened with every instant he thought of the American. Whatever it was that Alfred was hiding, that was probably the reason for his forced smiles and sad looks in his eye. And if living one more day as 'England', taking one more precautionary measure, and telling one more lie would take him one step closer to Alfred living a life devoid of whatever pain he felt, Arthur could live with it.

The Briton couldn't stop the determined smile that worked its way onto his features, as he looked back to his computer screen, closed the tab dedicated to the second Metropolitan press conference video, and clicked ' **Ok** ' on the Ailateh tab so that he could view Russia's business-related document.

**_Now then._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Sorry for this chapter being so short, but it was a thing that needed to happen. I'll make sure to update soon with the next installment, so until then? Stay awesome.


	16. And In Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a disturbing dream is experienced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular font indicates the present.
> 
> Italic font indicates flashbacking or dreaming; whether it's a flashback or a dream will be clarified.
> 
> Bold italic font indicates thought.
> 
> Bold regular font indicates writing/typing.

With ragged breathing and adrenaline rushing through his veins, Alfred woke up.

His mind was still warped from the nightmare he had woken up from, so he sat up and rested his back against his bed's headboard when he registered the shadows encasing his room, his senses going into fight-or-flight in the instance he had to defend himself.

Though his thoughts were a pathetic excuse for coherency, his dorm room was as quiet and serene as it was when he fell asleep. Nothing was displaced, nothing was missing, and there were no signs of infiltration by any enemies. When taking those factors into consideration, the American fought to catch his breath in an attempt to calm himself. His hand slipped over his chest as he struggled to regulate his pulse, his T-shirt damp with cold sweat and sticking lightly to his back.

After a moment of gathering himself together, he stood up and ran a shaky hand through his tousled blond locks to remind himself that everything was fine, the cold hardwood floor tattooing goose bumps on his skin.

The adrenaline still coursing through his system made him almost think otherwise for an instant. Alfred always hated the surreal feeling of waking up from a nightmare, as it made him jumpy and paranoid like he was after watching horror movies.

He doubted a horror movie could ever scare him as badly as that nightmare, though.

A soft sigh escaped from his lips as he ran his hands through his hair again, shivers spiraling down his spine when he closed his eyes and saw the face peering at him from the dark corner of his mind.

"It was just a dream," he murmured, taking deep breaths to calm down. "It was just a dream. Artie's alright, there's nothing to worry about."

The guilt pooling in his stomach threatened to differ, the unpleasant sensation causing him to bite his lip.

Ever since he left Arthur's dorm two hours ago, he had been plagued by nightmares. The same nightmare, playing over and over in his mind until it threatened to rip his skull apart. He didn't want to acknowledge what he had done to resign himself to such a fate, as it would mean acknowledging that he had-

Blood swarmed into his cheeks and heat invaded every fiber of his being, making Alfred stiffen from where he stood in his room. The concept…made him feel conflicted for unbeknownst reasoning.

A soft, exasperated sigh escaped him as he sat on the edge of his bed, his face in his hands as he reluctantly confronted what he had done. His heart was thumping in his chest, his stomach was twisting into knots, and he couldn't stop touching his lips as he tried to comprehend the fact that he had kissed Arthur!

His knees supporting his forearms grew wobbly, forcing him to sit upright. Alfred rubbed his temples to stave off his oncoming headache, a grimace etching itself onto his features.

 _ **I'm such a terrible friend,**_  he thought with another exasperated sigh, as he reached over and grabbed his glasses. ** _I shouldn't have taken advantage of Arthur, especially while he was sleeping._**

His eyes softened behind his glasses at the thought of the Brit. He had looked so calm and peaceful, with the moonlight shimmering against sandy-blond locks and making his green eyes glisten like emeralds amongst the darkness, and that smile…

Alfred couldn't help but wonder if he would die young from how often his heart felt strained at the sight of that smile, legitimate and brimming with happiness, unrestrained by wistfulness and pain. It was a glimpse into Arthur himself, his mind and soul; an opportunity to see his true self. However, it was a rare glimpse.

Again, it was all connected with that accursed number: fifteen. Arthur was fifteen when he suddenly changed, when he built a wall to protect himself from getting hurt even if it meant limiting the windows to his psyche, when his inner spark significantly diminished.

A part of Alfred considered the possibility that the lessening of Arthur's smiles was due to him growing up; while some held onto the more childlike aspects of their personalities, others deserted their innocence and embraced the cruelties of the world, becoming corrupted from the inside-out. That was a possibility that Alfred rejected; he knew that Arthur was better than that, stronger than that. He knew he wouldn't succumb to that path so easily.

But if that wasn't the answer, what was?

The American rested his head against his bed's headboard again, blowing some blond strands of hair away from his eyes.

"Even so," he continued, mentally berating himself for being so weak-willed. "None of that justifies what I did; I'm supposed to be a hero for justice who handles all criminals without discrimination or personal bias, I shouldn't abandon my morals because of Arthur, whether he's a main reason for me becoming America or not."

Alfred's words caught in his throat when he realized what he said. That was essentially the same sentence spoken by England twice; the first time in the video he sent to the NYPD on the night of the second Metropolitan heist-

The second time in the nightmare he had woken up from a few minutes prior.

_He had long lost the feeling in his legs. Since he started running, his limbs had become numb with the strain of his muscles. His breath came in shallow pants and disappeared in puffs of smoke in front of his face as his lungs burned with each heave that felt an instant heavier than the last. He barely registered the sensation of the morning summer air nipping at his face given how flushed his cheeks were._

_**I have to reach him,**  the blond managed to think semi-coherently in spite of his dulled senses, his hands clenching and unclenching themselves into fists at his sides, his eyes searching amongst the fog for the back of that familiar head of blond hair he had come to like.  **If I can't reach him now, I don't know if I'll be able to-**_

_He shook his head, hoping to shake his negative thoughts along with it, his brow furrowed as he increased his speed, uncaring of the worrying state of his legs._

_**No,**  he decided, cringing a miniscule amount at how badly the wind had picked up and how hard the chilled air clawed into his cheekbones.  **I can and will make it in time!**_

_Any semblance of thought evaporated from his mind the instant he spotted the subject of his thoughts standing by himself in the distance. He was dressed in black formal attire, his back to Alfred considering he likely stared into space._

_"Arthur," Alfred breathed, a relieved smile etched onto his expression at the sight of the Brit alive and unhurt, contrary to the fears that previously inhabited his conscience. Ignoring how his bones seemed to groan in agony at the concept of moving, he ran forward and wrapped his arms around the smaller blond, pulling him close until Arthur's back rested against his chest._

_Alfred buried his face in the hair of his friend, his best friend, his companion, not giving a damn of whether or not he was crying as long as the bushy-browed Briton stayed put in his embrace. Surprisingly enough, the Englishman didn't even struggle at the idea of interacting so intimately with the American. Unusual, considering he would normally squirm and shout colorful profanities that would cause even a sailor to blush. But as long as he was here, alive and well, Alfred couldn't care less._

_"Oh Arthur," he mumbled, his cheeks hurting from smiling so much. "I was so scared that he finally got to you. That you were-"_

_"Stolen away like a treasure?"_

_The entire world ceased to exist, with the exception of Alfred and the boy he held in his arms. Everything dulled in comparison, melting away into the background and becoming nothingness._

_Though his brain had begun to feel like mush in his skull, it took him less than a second to piece it together. His sky-blue eyes widened behind his glasses as the younger male turned around in his arms, a black masquerade mask decorated in silver tree branches obscuring his face with the exception of his forest-green eyes._

_"What did you do to Arthur?" Alfred interrogated, his gaze narrowing at the sight of the thief, anger lacing a majority of his voice to hide the panic lying underneath, his grip on the criminal tightening ever so slightly. "What the hell did you do to him?"_

_A low chuckle escaped from the Englishman as he stomped harshly on Alfred's shoes, relishing the satisfying screech of pain that escaped from the hero before he spun around and shoved him away, successfully escaping his grasp in the process._

_"The better question would be what I haven't done to him," England acknowledged, removing the Tudor rose from his lapel and twirling it between his fingers, a smirk growing amongst his features as he savored the panicked look in his enemy's eyes given how rare it was for the hero to be without some form of backup plan. Thankfully, the villain always had a backup plan thanks to his loyal sidekick. "Would you prefer to know that instead?"_

_"Where's Arthur, dammit?!" The American superhero shouted, repressing the strong temptation to throttle the thief's little neck until it snapped like a twig. With his inhuman strength he could very well do it. Watch the light fade from his emerald eyes that resembled his beloved Brit's._

_Though if he did something like that, would that make him just as bad as the criminals he had caught in the past? Would that make him just as bad as England? As bad as the people who-_

_"As much as I'd love to see you without arms or legs attached to your body, you're much more useful to me alive!" Alfred informed, interrupting his own train of thought. "Now tell me where Arthur Kirkland is, unless you want to end up six feet underground!"_

_The villain standing across from the hero shook his head, 'tsk'ing all the while with that same cocky smirk permanently engraved on his face. "You acknowledge the contradiction between what you're doing and what you're saying, right?"_

_"What do you mean by that?" Alfred questioned, keeping a firm stance on the ground to prevent himself from shaking in rage. He had no idea how much longer he could put up with the lunatic without giving into his homicidal urges. Just the thought of Arthur hidden somewhere, possibly being stored in the cargo hold of a plane or shoved into the claustrophobic space of a trunk, made his heart squeeze until he felt like he'd pass out._

_He didn't want to imagine Arthur possibly being dead._

_"You claim to be a hero for justice who handles all criminals without discrimination or personal bias, and yet you threaten to kill me simply for the disappearance of a close friend," the thief said, plucking a crimson petal off the Tudor rose held in his hand and letting it fall to the ground. The Englishman couldn't help but have his grin stretch wider. "It's obvious you have a difficult enough time abiding by your own rules. Or is it possible those little morals of yours are just for show? A little self-gratification to satisfy your hero complex?"_

_"Shut up!" The tall blond screamed, lunging forward and grabbing the villain by the collar of his black tailcoat, his blue eyes narrowed behind his spectacles. "Stop stalling for time, you bastard! Either you tell me what you did to Arthur or you can say goodbye to living!"_

_"Now how can I say goodbye to living if life isn't embodied into a person? It's as abstract a concept as personifying a country!" The English criminal remarked in a nonchalant tone of voice, raising his hands in surrender after seeing the (uncharacteristically) serious glint in the hero's expression. "Alright, I'll say this much for certain," He began, removing his mask with his smirk still existing on his face._

_'England' loved the look of horror and realization that dawned on the hero, given his face unconcealed was a patchwork of flesh from both his original skin and the former Arthur Kirkland's skin. The fact that thief had stolen Arthur's emerald-green eyes and jabbed them messily into his own eye sockets probably caused more psychological damage towards the hero than he initially intended._

_How wonderful._

_"N-n-no," Alfred managed to whisper, losing his grip on England's tailcoat and falling to the ground, staring up at the dark figure before him, staring into the unblinking eyes of his deceased friend. "N-n-no, y-you d-d-didn't-"_

_"But I did," England interrupted, crushing the Tudor rose in his hand so that the petals slipped through his fingers like blood, all the while looming over the so-called 'hero for justice' who was rendered helpless like a mere infant. "He died screaming for you to rescue him. He died believing you would find him in time and save him like the 'hero' you claim to be. And I must say…his eyes are the ultimate jewels in my collection."_

He felt sick in all aspects when remembering the nightmare. How powerless he felt in comparison to the thief, how he couldn't dissuade those horrific images of England with his patchwork face.

 _ **I know I should have experienced some guilt from my own subconscious,**  _Alfred dwelled internally, picking up his phone and opening up his notepad; whenever he had a nightmare, he would write it down in order to somewhat get it off his chest. Before, he used to always text Arthur about it, but as Arthur was cranky when he got woken up (not to mention it would be awkward to discuss the contents of his dream andhow he came to have the dream) the American decided it was better to use this method of writing his dreams down.  ** _But that was pretty messed-up._**

With that, he opened up a new note on his notepad (labeled as ' **6/17/xx** '), and began to type out what he experienced.

 _ **Though if there's one thing that I'm curious about,**_  the bespectacled blond started within his mind, as he looked over the finished text. Everything seemed in order with what he had seen, so he saved it a few times to prevent it from being deleted.  _ **It's why I dreamed of England when I should have dreamt of Arthur.**_

His brow furrowed as he leaned his hand on his cheek, staring into the brightly-lit screen as if it held the answer to life, the universe, and everything.  ** _Is it possible that it was a stress-related dream instead of a guilt-related one? That would make sense, considering all the craziness that's been going on as of late…_**

A sigh of relief escaped him this time, a small smile quirking at his cheekbones. "That's probably it. From trying to catch England, to trying to convince the public I'm not some diabolical villain, I've dealt with nothing but stress for the past few weeks."

With that logical explanation in mind, Alfred exited out of his notes and opened up the photo album on his phone, finally locating the picture he was looking for after a few minutes of searching as it was the oldest picture he had on his phone.

It was a picture taken of when he and Arthur first met, way back when they were kids.

What had happened was that Arthur and his family had moved from England into the same apartment complex as Alfred and his family. It was about a week before Arthur's sixth birthday (April 23rd), and his mother wanted Arthur to make as many friends as possible in America so that he wouldn't feel homesick, so she invited all the kids around his age to his birthday party.

That photo in particular was taken when Arthur opened up Alfred's gift to him (something he spent all the money in his piggy bank to get him), which was a stuffed animal that looked like a flying mint bunny. Apparently, the stuffed animal resembled one of his imaginary friends that he left back in England, because the Brit was so happy he burst into tears. The picture just showed a small Arthur smiling and crying tears of joy with a green bunny plush held to his chest, with Alfred sitting next to him with a happy (albeit confused) look on his face. He wouldn't have been surprised if Arthur still had the stuffed animal since he never let it out of his sight and took good care of it.

The picture was originally in Alfred's scrapbook, which he had come across while he was packing up to go to university. It struck a small cord in him and brought waves of nostalgia back, so he took a picture of it on his phone and kept it with him.

 _ **Whenever I wonder about why I decided to become America,**  _Alfred thought, pink blooming amongst his previously-pale features.  ** _I look at that photo and remember why. Because I want to make a world where he can smile like that all the time, without restricting his true self at all. Even if it's something as small as putting the bad guys behind bars, I want him to live without the pain of the past, without feeling like he has to involve himself with matters like the NYPD or England, without fear of being hurt or-_**

He blinked, seeing the patchwork face and lifeless green eyes from his nightmares, and inwardly shuddered.

 _ **Being killed,**_  he swallowed, refusing to blink out of fear he'd see it again, his grip on his phone increasing until he heard his phone case crack a little bit. He groaned, considering he really needed to stop almost breaking his phones with his super-strength. He set the phone aside and grabbed his laptop so he could search up articles relating to the second Metropolitan press conference, as it was obvious he wouldn't be able to sleep well if those kinds of nightmares plagued him.  ** _Even if I end up getting hurt or worse, I'll protect him from villains like England to the best of my abilities._**

As he accessed various websites and blogs, he couldn't help but smile. Ever since the second press conference, there hadn't been as many anti-America and anti-NYPD supporters as before. As footage of the conference was 'leaked' and rumors began to spread, people were starting to reconsider the possibility that maybe America and the NYPD didn't have their own agenda, maybe they were actually looking out for the public instead of themselves, and maybe England wasn't as big of a hero as he had led the people to believe. While it was a small amount of people on the internet saying such things and producing such articles in favor of the police, it was good to know that not everyone was thinking the worst of them.

 _ **Chances are that, with his popularity diminishing and the NYPD reclaiming their followings, England will feel cornered and begin to panic,**_  Alfred thought with a smirk after several hours of overlooking websites and resources, the beginnings of sunlight filtering through his window and cascading off his glasses. He leaned back in his bed with his laptop, his hands behind his head as a form of cushioning.  ** _When that comes, he'll be forced to make a move that will change everything._**

Surely, this was the turning point in this game of chess; as of right now, he could easily turn around, drop the America guise, and let the persona wither out and die before things got out of hand. If he made that move, he could live the rest of his life devoid of the troubles one would associate with England and the NYPD. While he made a good income from the product placement on his America attire, it wouldn't be hard for him to get a job as a paid intern or something along those lines. He planned on attaining his Master's Degree at NYU when the semester started in the fall. After that, there was a world of possibilities open for him.

However, he could continue forward just as easily; he could wait for England to make his move and proceed based on the choices he made, and walk down the path with 'O' and the NYPD as his shields and 'America' as his sword. He could continue on his mission to decrease New York's crime rates and, in turn, make New York a place where he and Arthur could live happily.

A part of him felt that, as a superhero, it would be wisest to keep people like Arthur at a distance to prevent him from getting hurt. Alfred swore that the main character in the anime Arthur made him watch said that once something was truly lost, one could never get it back again. The contents of his 'dreams' (if such dreams they could be called) only increased the need for that sort of thing to happen.

_"The better question would be what I haven't done to him."_

_"He died screaming for you to rescue him."_

_"He died believing you would find him in time and save him like the 'hero' you claim to be."_

But…there was that other part of him, the part of him that was selfish. The part of him that didn't want to ostracize himself from Arthur, the part of him that didn't want to lose connection with his friend, his best friend, his companion. And Alfred mentally berated himself for that, as again, it went against his morals regarding favoritism! Sure, he was human and it was natural, but he unsheathed this sword of his own will, he didn't want someone as important as Arthur to possibly suffer more because of his own selfishness!

If he gave into his selfishness, his lust, his greed, would that make him just as bad as England? Thieves were the epitome of selfishness, lust, and greed, why else would they steal? What other things could possibly motivate them to the point of burglary?

 _ **I doubt England could ever have something to fight for,**  _Alfred thought as his gaze grew half-lidded behind his glasses.  ** _I doubt he could ever have motives worth his freedom or his life._**

A quiet yawn escaped him, as he only now realized how exhausted he was. Taking that into consideration, Alfred closed his laptop and removed his glasses. He blinked drowsily when he turned on his phone and set an alarm that would give him a few hours of much-needed rest. In regards to him…kissing Arthur, Alfred figured it would be best to not bring it up.

 _ **I don't know how much longer it'll be until I'll have no choice but to keep Arthur at a distance,**  _he acknowledged, burying himself in pillows and blankets in an attempt to block out the increasing amounts of sunlight.  ** _So, until I do that, I don't want to mess things up between us. While I still have no clue why I decided to…kiss him, I'll try to refrain from doing something that could be regretted later on and destroy our friendship permanently._**

Alfred smiled a bit, oblivious to how wistful his smile appeared.

**_He probably considers me a friend and nothing more._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Remember how, in chapter two, I said that I initially planned for a much darker chapter than what I inevitably put out, and that I'd tell you which chapter it is? Well, this was/is it. Imagine how different the story's vibe would have been if I had decided to use this chapter for chapter 2.   
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'll try to update soon with the next one. Until then? Stay awesome.


	17. положи́ть начáло

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a meeting date, time, and place are established. Also, Arthur tries his luck at learning Russian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular font indicates the present.
> 
> Italic font indicates flashbacking or dreaming; whether it's a flashback or a dream will be clarified.
> 
> Bold italic font indicates thought.
> 
> Bold regular font indicates writing/typing.

Let it never be said that Arthur Kirkland didn't try to learn Russian.

The morning before, he had received a message from Russia requesting that they meet in person to discuss a potential business partnership, and had been sent a document pertaining to the date, time, and location of the meeting. The only downside regarding the entire situation was that Russia had only given him a little more than a day to decide whether he would like to accept the deal or not, forcing Arthur into a metaphorical corner until he made a move that would probably end up biting him in the arse later on.

Or end up being one of the best decisions of his life. Fate was a bipolar mistress, after all.

On the one hand, if Russia could afford the prices of both the Ganymede and Etruscan artifacts, then was logical to assume that money was no object to the man. Someone by the likes of him would undoubtedly help Arthur in his plans, whether he would purchase the artifacts or straight-out finance his schemes as a form of sponsor. Not to mention the fact that, assuming that Russia was a criminal himself instead of some corrupted politician with an affinity for rare artifacts, if he could maneuver past the police and America without being caught, he was definitely someone that Arthur would want as an ally.

On the other hand, this entire proposition could very-well be a trap set up by the NYPD to lure him out. It wasn't unheard of for cops to pose as criminals to gain the trust of their targets, especially if it could result in someone like 'England' (who was quickly becoming recognized as a world-renowned thief, thanks to the internet) being put behind bars and multi-million dollar jewelry being put back in museums. It also wasn't unheard of for the police to bargain with criminals to lure out other criminals so that the police would get them; 'to catch a criminal, one must think like a criminal', right?

Taking those factors into consideration, the entire concept was akin to a game of chess; however, unlike the rounds Arthur had made before, he had no idea what his opponent was like. It wasn't America, someone who Arthur somewhat had a chance of holding ground against as long as the hero's emotions didn't make him act without thinking. It was similar to the situation of the second Metropolitan heist, the situation with 'O'; his opponent (if he even had one) was someone who was unreadable, in mind and body. Someone who he was unable to predict, even if his predictions were entirely off (as even a slim chance of him being right was better than nothing), someone who rendered him powerless. Completely and utterly powerless.

And that scared him.

He could predict someone's mindset to his heart's content, but he could only watch their outward conduct and hope for the best. He had grown up by himself, isolated because of his cultural differences (funny accent, strange eyebrows, affinity for black magic and tendencies to burn water whenever he tried cooking), with chess as his only company when Alfred wasn't around. Arthur lost count of the many hours he spent playing chess, to the point where it could be assumed that chess and tea to him were like comic books and cheeseburgers to Alfred; in other words, a drug.

He hated not knowing what his opponent was like; for someone who lacked in the physical department, his brain was his only real weapon he could wield. Sure, his sharp tongue could prove to be a formidable foe, but that only worked for so long and so well. Limiting him in knowledge regarding his enemy was like trying to stuff a moose into a blender: strange, painful, and a generally-awkward experience for everyone involved.

Those same words could be used to describe Arthur's attempts at learning Russian.

"Zdrá?" Arthur wondered out loud, as he clicked the audio recording and listened in with his headphones. "Zdrávstv?"

"Zdrávstvujte?" Kiku supplied with raised eyebrows, wondering if this was some form of joke being administered by his British roommate; surely the blond wasn't pretending to be so helpless at learning basic Russian phrases, right?

The Japanese facepalmed when his roommate exclaimed with 'Zdrávstvujte! That's what it is!' with legitimate surprise. They had been at it for over two hours, how could he be so bad at this?

"Arthur-san, have you ever tried to learn a second language before?" the brunette questioned, unable to mask his confusion. He stood up from where he previously sat beside Arthur on the couch and walked to the kitchen, emerging a few seconds later with a tray of tea.

The Brit glanced away, embarrassment prevalent against his expression. "I'm fluent in Elvish from 'Lord of the Rings', but I don't think that applies here."

"I'm afraid it doesn't, Arthur-san."

"Dammit."

"Did you ever take a second language course in high school?"

Arthur groaned, his face in his hands at the thought. "I thought it would look nice on my resume, so I took a class in French," he admitted, a mixture of shame and frustration evident in his tone. His expression darkened in remembrance. "But I dropped the class after one semester since the language's pronunciation was all over the place with its 'fwas' and 'dohns'. It didn't help that the teacher's aide was a complete frog."

Even with his headphones on, Arthur could still hear Kiku snickering quietly, causing the Brit to roll his eyes in mock-annoyance. "Well, how did you come to learn English so well?"

The Asian took a sip of his tea. "Keep in mind that I moved here from Japan when I was twelve, Arthur-san. So I tried learning at every opportunity; I listened to songs in English, watched movies and anime in English, and practiced writing and speaking whenever possible. However, why are you so insistent on learning Russian phrases when Russia-san can speak English and you're facing difficulty with it?"

Arthur shook his head, his hand on his cheek as he re-read the foreign words and their translations. "If I meet with Russia and greet him in his native tongue, that could demonstrate my willingness to cooperate and become partners with him."

 _ **However, he could easily interpret it as me mocking him,**  _the Englishman thought with a click of his mouse, listening to the correct pronunciations of the phrases.  ** _And the last thing I want is an enemy outside America and the NYPD. Regardless, I ideally want to learn more than simple Russian phrases; that way I can understand him if he decides to speak plans conspiring against me in his native tongue._**

Kiku nodded in agreement. "That makes sense, Arthur-san," he replied, taking a sip of his tea. "It would be in our best interests to remain in his favor, as he could open a lot of doors for us if we move accordingly."

It was the blond's turn to nod, still listening to the brunette through his headphones. "He initially sent the message to us yesterday morning, however, his document has given us until tonight to decide and meet with him at the specified location."

"May I read the document?" Kiku asked, standing up and taking the printed copy of the document off the Briton's desk. He sat back down on the couch and overlooked the page's contents. "'The meeting will take place at 273 Brighton Beach Avenue on June 18th, at 9 P.M. Use the word 'Rossiya' at the reservation desk. Bring neither the Ganymede nor the Etruscan artifacts with you'. I cannot help but find that suspicious, as he's gone out of his way to bid on the artifacts only to request that you not bring them at all."

"Probably because Brighton Beach is patrolled by the NYPD's 60th Precinct," Arthur acknowledged, his hand on his cheek as he continued to listen to polite Russian phrases. "It would be foolish to try going there with a bunch of stolen artifacts in plain sight; it'd be asking to get arrested. The logical thing to do would be going there empty-handed so that we could scope out the police officers and see if they're potential threats."

Arthur couldn't stop the smirk that crossed his expression as he sat up and stretched, his muscles burning and his toes curling at the unfamiliar sensation. "If criminals like Russia can freely maneuver in that area without any problems, I'd say the police are still as incompetent as ever."

"Are you sure about this, Arthur-san? About seeing Russia-san and possibly becoming partners with him?"

Arthur leaned over and took a cup of tea from the tray. He paused before drinking it, taking a moment to look at his reflection. His eyes grew half-lidded at the sight, considering how tired he must have looked to his partner-in-crime. Arthur had woken up several times in the middle of the night, plagued by that same nightmare of America kissing him, so his skin was a bit paler than normal and his nerves were decently-frayed, especially with the recent development with Russia.

He blinked slowly, carefully taking the recent factors into account. A possibility of being played by a criminal and handed over to the police? Or a chance to even the odds between himself and America, who had both 'O' and the NYPD on his side?

Arthur closed his eyes, exhaling a soft breath he had no idea he was holding. "Yes," he answered, meeting the dark brown gaze of his friend sitting beside him. "I've no choice but to move forward, as it's the only path left to me now. What about you?"

Kiku smiled, a strange smile that made Arthur feel a bizarre sense of déjà vu as he felt like he, himself, had worn it before. "I promised I would stay by your side to help you achieve your goal," he reminded, his hand over his heart. "I see no reason to break that promise when we've gotten so far."

Arthur grinned, setting his laptop aside and standing up. "Russia wants to meet in about an hour," he notified, glancing at his wristwatch and registering that it was around eight in the evening. He extended his hand towards the Japanese, his grin still etched onto his facial features. "Want to upset the established order and introduce a little anarchy?"

It was the Kiku's turn to grin, as he accepted his roommate's hand and was pulled up.

"Hai, Arthur-san."

~ na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na~

"-Anyway, if you're so insistent on it, I would say 'privét'," Kiku advised as he walked down the street with Arthur, his brown eyes glancing at the unfamiliar surroundings of Brighton Beach. It had taken about forty minutes to take a subway from New York University to Brighton Beach, so they had been using all of their time looking for the location Russia specified in the document. "Yet 'zdrávstvujte' works well too, although a little formal."

Arthur raised a thick eyebrow with a smirk. "This coming from the person who addresses everyone with the honorific 'san', even though Alfred and I have told you it's fine to address us by our first names."

Kiku shrugged. "It's a habit of mine I haven't been able to break in the ten years I've lived in America," he admitted, pulling the printed copy of Russia's document from his pocket and unfolding it. "And Alfred-san always gets a kick out of it whenever I address him as 'san'. I take it you feel the same?"

Arthur blushed, though it was unnoticeable in the rapidly-diminishing rays of sunlight. "M-maybe just a little," he divulged in a self-conscious tone, his face burning brighter when his roommate laughed good-naturedly. "H-hey, it makes me feel like an anime character!"

"Gomenasai, Arthur-san," the Asian teased, a small smirk growing against his features. "Daijoubu desu ka?"

The Briton rolled his eyes again. "Spasíbo, horošó."

"You're getting the hang of it," the Japanese remarked, peering closely at the paper due to the aforementioned diminishing sunlight. "I'm glad to hear you speaking something that's not Elvish from 'Lord of the Rings'."

"Hantanyel," the Englishman snorted in a sarcastic manner, provoking another laugh from his friend. After a moment, he stopped. "273 Brighton Beach Avenue, right?"

"Right," Kiku confirmed, stopping as well. "Did you find it?"

Arthur pointed to a decently-sized beige building with a pair of tall metal lamps that illuminated the gold double-doors leading into the establishment, only labeled as ' **National** ' based on the green lettering above the doorway.

"It matches the address Russia-san gave us," the brunette acknowledged, slipping the paper back into his pocket. "So let's go inside. The worst-case scenario is that we end up looking elsewhere, so we might as well proceed."

The blond walked up to the door, holding it open for his partner and closing it when he entered. The interior was lavish and dimly-lit, the faint candlelight cascading shadows all over the walls and giving off a calm –albeit dark- vibe to the foyer. Their footsteps echoed throughout the room, unperturbed by the dark rugs beneath their feet as the two criminals walked to the reservation desk, where a shaking receptionist resided behind the counter clad in a formal tuxedo and a name tag which read ' **Raivis**   **Galante** '.

"G-g-good evening, g-gentlemen," the brunette greeted, quirking a thick eyebrow to rise against the Englishman's forehead. "W-what name are y-you listed under?"

Arthur looked at Kiku, who blinked once to signify that it wouldn't hurt to try, then looked back at the receptionist. "' Rossiya'."

Raivis's blue eyes widened and his shakiness seemingly increased tenfold, resulting in the confusion between Arthur and Kiku increasing tenfold. The short male forced a smile. "R-r-right," he continued, raising an arm and pointing to a staircase. "I-i-in that c-case, you'll f-find the V.I.P Suite t-to be the s-site of your r-reservation."

The reaction from the receptionist only heightened the Brit's suspicions. Arthur cast a worried look to Kiku, and, after the Japanese gave a hesitant nod, walked over to the staircase and began to ascend.

Each footstep seemed as loud as a gunshot to the thief as he stepped up the stairs. He grimaced when he finally reached the second floor, directing his line-of-sight back to the first floor where the entrance resided. If accepting Russia's deal was the door between turning away or moving forward, this was surely the threshold.

Arthur swallowed in vain hopes his heart wouldn't leap out of his throat, as he walked down the hall and removed his England mask from the pocket of his jacket at the sight of a sign which read  **'V.I.P Admittance Only** '. His fingers fumbled with the fabric string for a small amount of time before he pulled firmly and affixed it to his face, catching a glimpse of Kiku doing the same with his Kitsune mask out of the corner of his eye.

 _ **There are no signs of security cameras in the hallways,**_  the Briton thought with an inward sigh of relief, as he slipped on his black gloves. _ **And no signs of anyone present in this hallway.**_   ** _Russia probably didn't tell the receptionist of who he would be meeting, only that they were important and that they would require a private room, so that eliminates the possibility of the receptionist realizing our true identities._**

In spite of his heart rapidly beating against his rib cage, Arthur managed a smirk. One must never appear weak in front of others, especially those who could prove to be either allies or enemies. Precaution was always a virtue to abide by, after all.

With that in mind, he knocked twice on the door.

"Dobro pažálovat'." A thick (presumably Russian) voice spoke through the thick wood of the door, sending the Brit's nerves to both freeze and electrocute with the weight of the situation.

He was really going all the way with this.

He was going to do it. He was going to accomplish his goals, the tasks at hand. He would re-create New York with the ashes of its police department, for himself, for Kiku, for his parents-

For Alfred.

Arthur took hold of the doorknob and twisted it gently, opening the door. He held a hand over his heart and bowed slightly, the way one would expect of an gentleman from the Victorian era.

"Zdrávstvujte, Mr. Russia," Arthur said, a polite smile adorning his features. "I am England."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Here's the translations for what was said during this chapter:
> 
> * Zdrávstvujte= Hello in Russian (polite/formal version).
> 
> * Privét= Hello in Russian (informal version).
> 
> * Gomenasai= I'm sorry in Japanese.
> 
> * Daijoubu desu ka?= Are you alright? In Japanese.
> 
> * Spasíbo, horošó= Fine, thanks in Russian.
> 
> * Hantanyel= Thanks in LOTR Elvish.
> 
> * Dobro pažálovat= Welcome in Russian.
> 
> Needless to say, I had alot of fun researching those phrases since I love languages with all my tiny, black heart :) Also, feel free to check out the bloopers for this chapter on Fanfiction.net, as I still don't know whether or not I should include them in the author's notes on this site, yet; as always, I'm open to hearing what you guys have to say, so feel free to leave a comment regarding if I should have the bloopers included on this website too.  
> Anyways, I'll try to update soon with the next installment. Until then? Stay awesome.


	18. A Battle of Wills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which England and Russia get to know each other through unorthodox means. Also, Alfred goes a-snooping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular font indicates the present.
> 
> Italic font indicates flashbacking or dreaming; whether it's a flashback or a dream will be clarified.
> 
> Bold italic font indicates thought.
> 
> Bold regular font indicates writing/typing.

"Zdrávstvujte, Mr. Russia," Arthur said, a polite smile adorning his features. "I am England."

A mannerly chuckle resounded lowly throughout the room. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, England," the accented voice greeted, as the thief looked up from his slight bow and registered the sight of a folding screen on the opposing end of the room. "Voyditye."

"Thank you," the Brit replied when his partner-in-crime closed the door, as he walked forward and sat on the black leather couch facing the folding screen.

 _ **I anticipated that he would remain reluctant to show his face,**_  the Brit thought as he spotted a chessboard set on the table and picked up the black king, the familiar weight of the piece in his hand enough to soothe his nerves by a miniscule amount.  _ **Even though he said he wanted to meet 'face to face'. He's either well-versed in the art of precaution, or he intended to use his possible identity reveal as a bargaining chip.**_

He cascaded his gaze from the king in his hand to the large shadow visible in the folding screen, his anxiety increasing by a fraction.  ** _I wouldn't rule out the possibility of both, to be honest. Regardless of how he intended to lure me out, he still succeeded. Only fate will tell whether or not that was a smart move on my end._**

"As I said in the message, you've become quite the celebrity in such a short span of time," Russia began, resting his hand on his cheek based on the positioning of his shadow. "It is remarkable how quickly information can spread, these days."

The Englishman nodded in agreement, his eyes briefly flickering towards the brunette sitting beside him. He was surprised at how tense Kiku seemed, from the rigid-straightness of his posture to the tight clenching of his hands. It came as no surprise to the blond; while the Japanese was excellent at hiding his emotions, it was only natural that he would be nervous as it was his first time out in the field.

Arthur gently took hold of one of Kiku's hands and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "'It has the potential to be both a blessing and a curse, depending on who uses it', right?"

Another laugh from the folding screen. "Precisely. And you have used this knowledge to your advantage by turning the public and press into your allies. Countless have called you a hero, some going as far as calling you a world-renowned thief, while others have pushed their resentments onto your enemies without you lifting even a finger."

 _ **Stroking my ego by praising my successes?**  _Arthur acknowledged internally, his eyes narrowing as he looked back at the black king in his grip.  ** _I didn't think people still used that tactic. I know he needs to get on my good side to strike this business deal, but what more does he hope to gain through flattery?_**

"It isn't a difficult trick to pull," he notified with a shrug of his shoulders, thick eyebrows rising beneath his mask. "Considering no one can resist a good villain. People can pretend to care about morals, but the truth of the matter is that they admire those who go against what's been pre-established by society. We envy them, in a way."

"Very good answer, I imagined nothing less from you." The Russian spoke, as a small rectangular slit in the folding screen opened up to reveal a large hand slipping through the hole. The British thief couldn't ignore how the muscular fingers were abnormally-pale and tattooed in many, many skulls. The sight alone unnerved him, though he didn't allow his uneasiness to register in his physical appearance.

In spite of the folding screen separating them, Russia reached forward and grabbed ahold of something with ease, as if he could sense the location of what he was looking for. "I also imagine you specialize in this?"

He held up a white king.

~ na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na~

Alfred exhaled a breath he had no idea he was holding, the air appearing as a puff of smoke for an instant before it disappeared. He wrapped a towel around his waist as he stepped out of the shower, a pleased grimace etching itself onto his expression when he stretched his strained arm muscles.

 _ **If I had known that Mattie had so much heavy stuff with him,**_  he thought as he popped a few chinks in his neck and opened the door, droplets of water disappearing into the carpeting of his room.  ** _I definitelywouldn't have volunteered to carry all his belongings by myself._**

_The American wasn't able to stop tapping his foot, as to provide some form of outlet for the pent-up nerves he was experiencing at the moment. While he had talked to his older brother through cellphones and Skype, he hadn't seen him in person for about seven years!_

_**He left for Germany shortly after mom and dad died,**  Alfred recalled mentally, his eyes half-lidded behind his glasses at the memory.  **Since he applied for an international scholarship that was too late to back out of. Every time he tried coming back, something kept popping up that interfered with us seeing each other, whether it was due to schooling or his part-time job as a doctor.**_

_He grinned, all the negativity previously visible in his aura vanishing. **Though he applied for a position at Mount Sinai Hospital so he could get in the 'States again, and he brought his fiancé with him so he could get married soon.**_

_At first he had no idea what to think of his brother's fiancé; when he met him (via Skype, of course), Alfred thought that Matthew and Gilbert were completely opposite of each other, and that they'd never get along. But, it turned out that the confidence/arrogance that the German/self-proclaimed Prussian emitted was a façade to hide his shyness, and that he was a surprisingly-sweet man to his lover._

_It also helped that Alfred threatened to bust both Gilbert's kneecaps with a rusty wrench if he hurt Matthew in any way. Definitely helped, as a matter of fact._

_Although it took a bit of difficulty finding the Canadian (as Matthew was a wallflower compared to Alfred), he caught sight of the twenty-three year old blond with his soon-to-be husband of twenty-five years and waved them down, shouting 'MATT! MATTIE! MATTIKINS! OVER HEREEE!' so that he could be heard amongst the crowds of the airport._

_"Geez, Al," Matthew laughed when he walked over with Gilbert in tow, a soft smile adorning his features. "Glad to see your larynx is still fully-operational."_

_The American blinked. "English, please."_

_"He's glad you're still as obnoxious as ever," Gilbert translated, 'kesesese'ing when Alfred pouted and cringing when Matthew punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Hey, I'm just the awesome messenger; don't shoot me for something you said, Birdie!"_

_"Anyway," Matthew continued with a roll of his eyes, as he leaned forward and hugged his younger brother. "I'm glad to see you, Alfred. Sorry I came so late."_

_Alfred returned the hug and ruffled his sibling's hair for good measure. "It's okay, bro," he responded, pulling away with a smile on his face. "It's good to have you back at the Big Apple; Artie and Kiku missed you a lot."_

_"How are they doing? I haven't seen or heard from them since I left, unfortunately," Matthew mentioned as he tugged forward his bags. While his upper-arm strength was better than the average male (since he was a reign of terror on the hockey rink), it wasn't as impressive as Alfred's superhuman skills. He glanced around to see if Gilbert was within hearing range, before speaking a little quieter than his default whisper. "Did you tell Arthur about mom and dad-"_

_"No," the American interrupted, guilt eating at his system when he realized his mistake. He scratched the back of his head before grabbing one of his brother's suitcases. "Sorry about that, Matt. I mean, I…kind of told him about mom and dad. I didn't tell him the full extent of what happened."_

_Matthew bit his lip. "You have to tell him eventually, right? He's your best friend and he deserves to know. You can't leave him in the dark about it forever."_

_Alfred sighed, absentmindedly grabbing more luggage to semi-distract himself. "I'll tell him soon," he expressed, quirking a bemused look from the Canadian. "I will, trust me. Just…not right now, okay? I've been under a lot of stress as of late."_

_"Okay." Matthew murmured in an unsure tone of voice, casting a wary gaze to his sibling currently bombarding himself with baggage. "Al, I know you're stronger than the average guy, but are you sure you can carry that much by yourself?"_

_"Totally," Alfred assured, following behind his older brother so that they could find a taxi soon. "Though Matt?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"Do me a favor and try not dissecting my arm-muscles in my sleep, 'kay?"_

_"That was ONE TIME, Al!"_

Alfred smiled when thinking of his brother, relieved to know that he was in the U.S again instead of across an ocean. Though they weren't technically related by blood (as Matthew was born in Canada and adopted into an American family shortly before Alfred was born), they were as close as any pair of siblings could get, so his absence had created a significant void.

However, the thought was enough to send his nerves on edge. Possibly another person who could end up getting hurt simply by being involved with America, even indirectly. There were people out there who would pay quite nicely for anything –or anyone- that could be America's weakness, who's to say they wouldn't use Matthew? Or Gilbert? Or Kiku? Or-

_"The better question would be what I haven't done to him."_

_"He died screaming for you to rescue him."_

_"He died believing you would find him in time and save him like the 'hero' you claim to be."_

The American swallowed in vain efforts to swallow his current train of thought, his gaze conflicted behind his glasses as his fingernails threatened to pierce his palms from how badly he was clenching his fists. He didn't want to hurt the innocent, that was one of the reasons he became a superhero; to prevent the innocent and weak from being crushed by the wicked and the strong. He'd be just as bad as England if he stood by idly and watched as atrocities continued to occur, as the world continued to move on its axis devoid of any change.

Just thinking of England was enough to make Alfred's blood boil in his veins. The American knew that England would carefully think his next move through ('O' had mentioned how England wasn't to be taken lightly as he was a strategist), but he didn't anticipate him taking so long! If he had known it would take so long, he would have tried luring England out himself with some form of bait. The only question then would be what kind of bait would lure him out…

Alfred ran a hand through his tousled blond locks to stop himself. Really, for the sake of his mental state, he had to stop overthinking things. The ideal time for catching England had come and gone; all there was left to do was wait. If he stressed himself over nothing, that would only benefit England.

 _ **And the last thing I'd want to do is help that bastard out,**_  he thought with an frown, his gaze hardening behind his glasses when recalling his message during the second Metropolitan Heist, England's imitation of Oya, England's trap to exploit America's weakness for personal gain. He didn't want to even dwell on the nightmare.  ** _After all he's done, and after all I know he wouldn't hesitate to do._**

Arthur's sleeping face passed through his mind for an instant, and his heart ached for inexplicable reasoning.

_"You have to tell him eventually, right? He's your best friend and he deserves to know. You can't leave him in the dark about it forever."_

Alfred sighed, rubbing his temples to stave off an oncoming headache. He was beginning to understand how Vash probably felt dealing with him twenty-four-seven.

"I should tell him about it," he mumbled, his chest feeling heavy with regret. Since he had become America, he undoubtedly had secrets that were better off untold, but Arthur…he felt like Arthur was one of the few exceptions to that. He had been there for him when his parents had died, when he didn't have Matt around to help him through it. Arthur tried to preserve any semblance of happiness, even at the cost of his own. It was…the least he could do. "He deserves the right to know about it, regardless of how it might-"

He forced himself to stop, his eyes growing wide behind his glasses.

**_…How it might lead to me telling him that I'm America._ **

The room seemed so silent, almost deafeningly silent, to his ears. Everything seemed way out of proportion with that realization, with that…concept. If he told Arthur about the truth of his parents' deaths, it could lead to him admitting the truth about him being America. How would Arthur respond to that? Him, Alfred F. Jones, being America, New York's famous superhero? There was no telling with him, it was as difficult to interpret Arthur as it was to interpret England.

That freaked him out. Honestly, England and Arthur being alike? Those two couldn't be more different! Sure, they had a few similarities with appearance and personality, but those were sprinkles of similarity on a cake of complete opposites! England was manipulative and heartless, greedy and a complete villain, while Arthur was-

…What was Arthur, indeed. Incapable of being described, that was what he was. Though if Alfred had to pick a word to describe Arthur (though it was incredibly geeky for him to use this word), he would have to use the word 'excelsior' to describe him. It was a Latin word he learned from his comic books, a common phrase that Stan Lee used, hell, it was even the motto of New York! It translated to 'ever upward', to indicate something or someone above everyone or everything else, to mean that something or someone was unique and-!

A-at least, that was the way Alfred always interpreted the word out to be. Only because Arthur was prideful as hell.

If the worst-case scenario happened and Alfred had to tell Arthur the truth about him being America, how would that all turn out? Wouldn't he become a bigger target in the eyes of criminals like England? If he knew the truth and someone suspected him of knowing America's identity, who knows what lengths people would go to get the information out of him? Arthur had a difficult enough time dealing with the press after the America Fiasco!

That was another thing to take into consideration. Say Arthur found out, but no one, not even England, found out? Arthur kissed America, but how would he react if he discovered he kissed both America and Alfred? Would he be horrified, knowing he kissed his best friend? Or would he-?

Alfred slapped himself in the face, blaming the previous action for the furious blush on his cheeks and the rapid rate of his heart. AGAIN with overthinking things?!

 _ **If I tell him about my parents, I'll make certain that it won't result in me explaining I'm America,**_  the American decided, opening the door to his dorm to escape the confusion lurking within those walls, uncaring of how tired his body was and the fact that it was around 9:30 in the evening.  ** _That way, I'll preserve at least a little of my sanity!_**

He didn't realize he had arrived at Arthur's dorm until he felt the wood of the door beneath his knuckles as he knocked. And he had no idea of what he was going to say, how he was going to explain everything, etcetera!

He didn't realize the door was unlocked until he had turned the doorknob out of curiosity.

~ na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na~

"It is an interesting method for us to get to know each other better, da?" Russia wondered out loud, making Arthur flinch. "I've always found chess to be such an enjoyable game."

"Yes," Arthur managed to say without stuttering, in spite of how badly he was breaking down on the inside. He had taken Russia's idea for chess on a whim, expecting that he would continue his roundabouts of flattery to get him on his good side, and going as far as allowing him to win a chess game to fully seal the deal, but no; it seemed the Russian had a different agenda, one that allowed him to assert his dominance in their situation, learn more about England, while maintaining an aura of friendliness simultaneously. And it was getting to him, dammit! "Chess is truly a wonderful game to play."

Whenever Arthur played chess, he always played as black considering white went first and, if his opponent made the first move, it would give him a chance to assess the possible outcomes and plan accordingly! As Russia was white, he went first, but he moved with his e-file pawn to e-4, so, naturally, Arthur decided to humor him by moving his black pawn from e-7 to e-5!

At this point, Arthur should have seen where the game was going. But, admitting defeat was never one of his strongest points. If he retracted one of his moves, that meant he was second-guessing himself, and if he second-guessed himself, Russia could interpret it in ways that could bite him in the arse later on!

Russia moved his king-side bishop to c-4, only for Arthur to make a quick decision to move his queen's pawn to d-6. After Russia sent his king's white knight out to f-3, Arthur took a chance at a pining move by getting his queen's bishop to g-4. The white knight was forced to stay where it was, otherwise, Arthur would have had no choice but to use his bishop to capture Russia's queen.

But everything went to hell from there, and by God, did the Brit hate it.

In a nutshell, Russia captured two of Arthur's pawns, and while the Englishman got hold of Russia's queen and set his black king in check, he had no choice but to move his king back to the only safe haven left on the board (e-7). The only thing left for him now was to wait for Russia's knights to claim his king in a checkmate.

He had never tasted defeat in a game of chess, before. In all other games, he had the opportunity to see his opponent's face, read their facial expressions, get somewhat of a glimpse into their mindset! Actions and expressions were two entirely different things; actions were hard to predict if someone's outward conduct didn't correspond with their thoughts (i.e. America), but expressions were different. They gave you a glimpse into someone's mind, even if it was a rare glimpse. Not everyone could create a poker face, and that was a key element to deciphering how a person's mind worked. And Russia…by Russia planting the folding screen, it meant he knew. He somehow knew!

 ** _Flattering me was a means to lower my guard, even if for a few minutes,_**  the British thief thought with a mental groan. If only he hadn't been so hasty in his whims, if only he had interpreted the situation entirely and properly prepared for it instead of…acting like he had with 'O', against an opponent he had no idea how to fight against! The humiliation was palpable!  ** _And that few minutes was a window of opportunity, so he seized it by luring me into a game of chess as means to assess my thinking skills and determine if I was worthy of this business agreement. Or is it just a means to assess his position in our agreement? That, by beating me in chess, he's higher-up in our agreement that should be between equals? It could be both again for all I know!_**

"Before I make this final move, I would like to ask you something, England," Russia informed, jolting Arthur out of his chaotic thoughts. "What do you hope to gain through this agreement of ours?"

 _ **Oh, what the bloody hell do I say to that?**  _Arthur thought sarcastically, relieved his opponent/possible ally/possible enemy couldn't see his face considering he rolled his eyes a good amount.  ** _It's a difficult question to pose on the spot. Can I phone a friend?_**

He inwardly sighed, looking at his king surrounded by knights. He felt a pang of empathy for the king, as he too felt trapped on all sides. But whatever semblance of sarcasm and overall paranoia vanished when he glanced at Kiku sitting beside him, just as rigid with nervousness as he was earlier. He couldn't afford to make a mistake; not now, nor anytime in the future.

Not as long as he was England.

England was his guise, his sword that he decided to wield of his own accord. If he ended up cut, that was the price he had to pay. He didn't mind if he, himself, got injured with it. But if others had to atone for his mistakes, he would handle everything with precaution.

Precaution was always a virtue to abide by. All of this was for a better world, for his parents, for Kiku, for Alfred. All of this was for them, so he had to pretend, at least for a little while. Add another layer to his façade, another lie to conceal.

_**And by means to that end-** _

"What do I hope to gain through this agreement of ours?" He repeated, his eyes half-lidded behind his mask. A lazy smirk played at his features, hiding his anxiety and paranoia well. After all, one must never appear weak in front of those who could be potential allies or enemies.

Based on the sharp gasp that emitted behind the folded screen, Arthur must have surprised Russia when he tipped his own black king over of his own will.

"Revenge."

_**-I must become the perfect villain.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading this chapter, I'll try to update soon with the next one. It's so strange re-uploading this, as I still remember uploading it for the first time on Fanfiction.net. Ah, memories.  
> Anyway, until next time? Stay awesome.


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